#its the size of a large building. it basically IS a moving building

[spearxwind]

Fantasizes about a really big excavator vehicle for my dragon worldbuilding before realizing im basically reinventing the plot in avatar

[onlyswan]

summary: in which you make jungkook’s world spin and you tend to… make him a little too dizzy.

> idol!jungkook x reader / est. relationship, fluff, angst / word count: 7k

> content/warnings: yea shirtless jungkook should be a warning… one (1) spank then he kisses it better, also gives a kiss to that lil bow on oc’s undies >:( + a flashback of oc crying and him getting stressed out bcs oc is a careless brat fr

> in which masterlist!

note: hehe i’m here <3 this drabble is basically just oc in a mood and jungkook being the sweetest bf ever 🤨 idk how it got this long either heh it didn’t feel that way at all while i wrote-edited? but i hope u enjoy and i’d love to hear ur thoughts 🥺 reblogs/feedback are appreciated !! <3

—

“oh my god- fuck!”

you cover your mouth in shock, squeezing your eyes shut and flinching at the ear-splitting sound that bounces off the walls of the apartment.

jungkook is rendered frozen, eyebrows furrowed and jaw slacked, staring down at his shirt largely stained by the chocolate milk you were walking around with after brunch.

“damn…”

his eyes are irritable when they communicate with yours.

“baby! really? did it have to be the white one?”

but seconds later, they become worried and calculating — wandering all over the tiled floor, and then your bare feet infront of his slides-clad ones, surrounded by shattered pieces of ceramic.

the collateral damage. an unforeseen tragedy.

suffice to say, jungkook woke up this morning blissfully unaware of the turbulent storm threatening to make a playground out of your mind. it’s craving to feed destruction, and here he is living with you under the same roof, an unfortunate casualty from your antics.

the hand-painted mug, wet from the condensation, slipped away from your hands when you accidentally collided with his tough build at the intersection of the living room and the kitchen. this… wasn’t part of the plan. the plan was a little spill and this is a landslide.

“that was expensive too.” you utter wistfully, chest deflating as you release an exasperated breath. “sorry. i’ll clean up everything. just stay there and i’ll- when did i last see the broom-”

his doe eyes grow two times its size when you start looking around the apartment in search of the broom, and perhaps something you can use to pat yourself and jungkook dry, causing your feet to unconsciously shift on the treacherous ground.

“ba-baby! don’t move! you’re going to hurt yourself. are you crazy?” he interrupts you with a hiss, voice stern as his hands curl around your arms to hold you steady. “it’s okay. this is nothing, i’m not mad… just stay still, understand?”

you nod slowly as he lets go, eyebrows knitting together to convey confusion when he starts pulling his shirt over his head, revealing miles of bare skin and planes of defined muscles on a perfect silhouette. perfect because it’s jungkook.

alright… to see him half-naked wasn’t one of your intentions, but you’re definitely not one to complain.

“tsk, i think i need to shower again.”

figuring that the internet has a solution to every problem one could think of, jungkook has decided to accept the horror that has happened to his shirt. what was it again? salt? vinegar? baking soda? powder? fuck it, he’ll search for it later.

he throws caution to the wind by using it to wipe his damp torso, brushing it over his tan skin glistening with a sheen of the liquid that you wittingly spilled. he winces at the uncomfortable stickiness that could be felt across his stomach, but he can’t help but to laugh when he sees how it further accentuated his abs.

and if only you were in a chipper mood today, you would be laughing along with him. would’ve taken over cleaning him up, apologized with a kiss on his waist. too bad you’re not.

eventually, he gives up on erasing on the feeling, proceeding to fold the shirt in halves.

“what are you doing?” you snap, putting on a guise of harsher irritation over your dreamy stares at your boyfriend’s glorious physique. “are we just supposed to stand here forever like idiots?”

“what is this? why are you so grumpy today?” he questions with a frown, patting your cheek with the soft cottony fabric because the splash managed to reach your face unbeknownst to you.

and then he bends down to place the folded shirt infront of your feet, looking up to you with his galaxy-filled eyes to say, “here- come on. stand here while i clean up.”

you stand isolated on the safe zone he created, childishly pouting with your arms crossed over chest as you wait for him to pick up your slippers in the bedroom.

the simple answer to jungkook’s question is you’re bored and in a bad mood. the more complex answer would be you came up with a one-man game you can only win if you successfully piss your boyfriend off, but you’re too scared to pull off anything that will legitimately make him upset with you.

because the last time you made him angry, it hasn’t been… that long ago. he’s been keeping a closer eye on you since then, and you’ve been trying to be good. keyword being trying. after all, you did lost his car key… at a beach three hours away from home. you searched the entire shore — retraced your steps, made your knees and palms bleed digging through the rocky sand, curled up by the waves to wallow in self-blame and the smell of salt-air defeat. you were nearly in tears as you listened to the call ring for what felt like an eternity, unsure if he already wrapped up the company meeting he mentioned to you the day before.

you still remember the desperate words you greeted him with instead of ‘hello’.

“babe, promise me you won’t be mad.”

—

“____, you didn’t even tell me you were coming here! care to explain that to me first? huh?”

your name, and not ‘baby’? heavens above have mercy; you’re fucked.

jungkook presses the heels of his palms over his eyes to alleviate the dull throbbing of his head, breathing heavily to compose himself, but he can’t disguise the frustration deeply embedded in his voice.

“you scared me!”

not yelling, but tone evidently very upset with you. somehow, that makes you feel worse.

“i had to make up an excuse infront of everyone and drive here fast. i was so worried of you being here all alone when it gets dark!”

“it’s your car so i thought i had to let you know right away. i’m sorry.” you chew at your bottom lip anxiously, eyes brimming with tears as you barely muster up the courage to observe how he’s handling this.

your heart pounds louder in your chest when he finally looks down at you, guilty and gloomy, sat on a wooden bench painted yellow. it drops to your stomach when you see the sullen expression painting his face a light shade of red.

“where did you lose it?”

you open your mouth, but no words come out. you can only manage to point at the shore with your disoriented eyes, and he traces the direction with his. the majestic orange sky where the sun descends below the horizon fails to be recognized by your foggy, distracted minds.

it’s silent for a few beats, then he huffs, breathing out a sarcastic chuckle before burying his face in hands.

“baby, please. please. are you sure you’re not pranking me right now?”

“no! do you think i’d joke like this? i really tried my best to find it!” you sniffle, roughly wiping away the lone tear that escapes your eye. you’re almost too humiliated to continue talking, volume falling a few notches above a whisper. “but the waves were getting stronger.”

he vehemently shakes his head, rendered speechless and stuttering, malfunctioning. he doesn’t think he has ever imagined this type of scenario before. “this is crazy. really… this is unbelievable… how did this even happen?”

he exhales loudly before removing his hands, revealing a calmer exterior. be that as it may, his skin is more flushed, all the way to his ears and down to his neck, where his veins have become noticeably prominent.

“i mean, what else can we do about it? i’ll request for a new one.”

“but are we just going to leave the car here?”

“did you leave anything in there?”

“i left my bag, but…” you pat the pockets of your skirt to check if your valuables didn’t meet the same fate as the car key. “i brought my phone and wallet with me.”

he nods. “then i’ll call a towing service.”

you pout.

“it’s such a bother.”

feeling exhausted after burning a concerning amount of energy in search of the missing item, you stand on wobbly feet to loop your arms around his waist.

maybe it’s to coax him into forgiving you. maybe it’s to make yourself feel better, nuzzle your face on his chest to drive away the anxiety weighing on your shoulders. but as it’s being lifted off, so is the barrier withholding your salty tears.

“i’m so careless. i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i should’ve drove my car instead.”

“ye- no, that’s not…” he cuts himself off with a sigh.

he puts an arm around you, pushing his hair back and repeatedly carding his fingers through it out of habit.

“seriously, baby… you stress me out so much, do you know that? you’re always wandering around places you’re not familiar with… this is secluded. it’s dangerous. you could get hurt if you bump into the wrong people… really, i’m just relieved it’s not yourself that you lost this time!”

the recollection of old flashbacks playing in his mind like a movie reel elicits a throaty chuckle from him, low and rough, the vibrations of his chest rudely awakening the butterflies in your stomach.

“you couldn’t even send me a text. you didn’t turn on your location. i would’ve lost my fucking mind again… did you even thought of that? or is that what you wanted, huh? baby? you enjoy driving me crazy like this?”

and the confession tucked inside his scolding obliterates any coherent thoughts in your head, causing you to lose control of your whirlwind of emotions.

“this isn’t fair. you said you won’t be mad.” you wail out in response, tears fiercely leaking from your eyes akin to a rainstorm. “i didn’t know this would happen!”

he clicks his tongue, gingerly caressing your wet cheeks with his thumb, then with the rest of his fingers, and the paw of his jacket, because the streams just seem to have no plans of ceasing. his wide eyes worriedly scans your tear-stained face, heart squeezed painfully by the restrained sobs forcefully ripping themselves from your throat.

“shhh, shh. don’t cry- don’t cry. i’m not mad, i was just worried about you.”

“jungkook, you’re lying.” you whine. “don’t lie to me. i don’t like it.”

he slowly blinks at you, head hanging low as to compose his thoughts before he reconnects with your eyes. a faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips before his tongue unconsciously sweeps over them, its tip catching the silver ring piercing through his skin to play with it.

a moment of silence, thick with restlessness and anticipation, harder to breathe with the unique smell of the salt-air entering and leaving your lungs.

you feel small under his stoic gaze. you want to sit back down and cry harder.

your boyfriend is mad. your boyfriend is infuriatingly hot even when he’s disappointed in you. you need to dig a hole in the sand and live there forever. after everything, these are the only thoughts left running in your head.

“okay, fine. you lost the key of our car in the ocean, ____. but what if someone already found it by chance?” he cocks his head to the side, briefly peering at the road behind you.

he knows that it’s no use. even if he does see the white jeep wheeling by, is he supposed to assume that he can outrun it by some heaven-granted miracle?

“what then? hm…? what else can we do? i guess it could be getting stolen right now and we don’t even know. you parked so far away.”

god, please, not your favorite car.

“it’s not only the car. i still have important documents left in the compartment too.” this only dawns on him now, judging by the look of distress written on his face. he suddenly slaps his thigh, and you flinch a little. “fuck! i should’ve cleaned sooner!”

“then you are mad.” you arrive at a conclusion, chin wobbling as you sniffle. “about a lot of things.”

you resist the urge to stomp your feet. you want to throw a tantrum so bad. tell him that he shouldn’t be keeping such things in the car in the first place, that he owns a safe for fuck’s sake, but you know you can’t get away with shifting the blame because you messed up horribly in comparison.

“i get it. i’m sorry… i take full responsibility this time.”

“shit, baby.” he deeply sighs.

it becomes quiet again. he just looks at your face with knitted eyebrows, not saying anything more, and you try your best to cut off your crying, not to act conscious, but your eyes still fall on the sand. they stay there for a few beats to avoid the intensity of his gaze.

he almost sounds pained when he finally speaks. “how can i stay mad at you when you’re crying?”

he tilts up your chin, and your glassy eyes, sparkling with a new wave of tears, look at him beseechingly.

the setting sun. an eternal witness to a brand new day of humans being humans. it kisses your skin with its golden light, bathing your figure to radiate an angelic glow that drives him to consider once more that you could just be an enchanting character across dreams and the year is still 2017.

you sniffle again, brushing off his hand. sometimes you despise that jungkook brings out messiest, most unstable side of you. you know that he practically signed up for this, and he will always love you the same, love you even more. but that doesn’t take away the fact that you’re so embarrassed.

“but i’m not crying just to make you feel bad, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“yah, that wasn’t what i meant?” he frowns, eyes softening at your reply. “of course. i know that.”

the cracks in your voice, he seals with a soft kiss on your lips, tender and swollen caused by the onslaught of your sharp teeth.

“anyway, i can take care of replacing it. i mean, it’s not like it can get stolen just like that, right…?”

he sounds rather nervous convincing the both of you.

“but i’m most worried about you. i can lose everything but you.” his tattooed arm pulls you closer, casting aside the tension by leaving not even an inch of space between your bodies. he tenderly rubs your back to console you, and another kiss is granted to your temple, his soothing voice slightly muffled as his lips stay glued to you. “did i make you cry? i’m sorry, baby, i’m sorry… it’s okay. things like this can happen.”

“no, i’m sorry.” you aggressively shake your head and he carries on with wiping your cheeks, the back of his hand brushing off the tears that drip across your chin. he dries his hand on the hem of his jacket only to get it wet all over again.

“let’s just learn from this and move on. promise me that you’ll be more careful next time, okay? you can do that, right?”

jungkook does scold you every now and then, but although you stress him out, he would hate it if he’s not the first person you call when you’re in trouble. he would hate it if you act nonchalant and secretly cry when you’re hurt. but most of all, he can’t imagine a life in which you don’t make his world spin, much as he tends to get too dizzy at times.

your defiant hum makes his tense shoulders drop in disappointment.

“there should be a bus stop somewhere, i’ll just go home on my own. i don’t want to keep stressing you out.”

you will yourself to break free from his embrace, dragging yourself away to leave behind a trail of footprints in the sand, and he knows he’ll be running after you today, too.

“oh? you better stop right there!” he warns with a hand over his hip.

you become smaller and smaller in his eyes with every tick of the clock, much like how the sun is gradually getting swallowed by the ocean.

“i’ll get angry for real if you disappear from my sight. really, i’m not joking!”

angry? what a joke. you know that he’d cry blood searching for you if you get lost.

“oh? you’re really not going to stop?!”

jungkook’s voice fall on deaf ears, except that of the dog leashed to a tree that stands infront of a humble home. it seethingly barks at him from many meters away.

“fucking shit. i need alcohol.” he chuckles to himself, rubbing his tired eyes. “____, i swear, you’re getting too stubborn these days. what should i do with you?”

but you’re too far away to hear him, and so, he answers himself.

“eh, it is what it is.”

the wind blows with a quiet whistle, deadly as it fuels the roaring waves.

“AH! nuh-uh!” he exclaims, jaw dropping in alarm when he sees an urgent reason to chase after you, putting those leg days at the gym to good use.

you jump, a squeak leaving your mouth when out of nowhere, a solicitous palm smooths over your behind, sliding down to the back of your thighs to hold down your rippling skirt.

but you’re determined to be unyielding, eyes shooting daggers at jungkook. “leave me alone. i can do it myself.”

“baby, isn’t that a little rude? is that how you say ‘thank you’?”

“thank you. now let’s go our separate ways.”

and just like that, you’re walking away again.

“shit.” he curses quietly through gritted teeth, pulling at his hair. “babe, please come back… i’m sorry! i didn’t mean that!”

—

“jungkook! how many times do i need to tell you to turn off faucet properly?!”

you’re hot on jungkook’s tail as he makes his way to the laundry room beside the kitchen, carrying a laundry basket over his hip. he’s still shirtless, only clad in a different pair of shorts after a quick shower.

“the bathroom sink was close to overflowing! again!”

“i know what you’re doing.”

“what? what am i doing?”

the basket touches the ground, standing beside the dryer, and then he turns to face you, eyebrows shooting up. “picking a fight with me won’t work today.”

“why?” your tone borders on a whine.

“what do you mean ‘why’?” he laughs in jest. “why? why do you want to fight with me so bad?”

“i don’t know.” you exhale loudly, rolling your eyes and shrugging. “just because!”

“well, that’s not very convincing, is it?” he teases you with a grin, proceeding to open the dryer to dump the fresh laundry in the basket. the clothes you wore in the past week once again soaked up the sweet, floral scent the people around you distinctly recognizes to be your own and jungkook’s.

“i know, but i’m done playing now. you’re not hearing me.” you close your eyes in frustration, recounting the other times you had to say these exact words. “you’re going to flood our house.”

“okay, okay. i won’t forget to double-check it from now on. i promise.”

“sure, that’s what you also said last time.” you indignantly scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “i’m not turning it off for you anymore. if we get flooded, i’m leaving you. i’m moving out.”

your threat puts a halt to his movements for a split second before he’s adorably replying in a sing-song voice. “then i’m going with you.”

“no, you’re not.”

and it doesn’t come as a shock to you that jungkook doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

“huh! good luck trying to stop me.” he slams the door of the dryer shut, standing up straight. “it’s not easy getting rid of me. you know that.”

he walks to the middle of the room to get a good view of you at the entrance. with the other resting on his hip, he lies his palm flat over the counter, outstretched arm cascading with varied colors of ink in sharp lines and swirling curves.

fuck, he has to know what he’s doing — flexing his muscles like that, not playing fair.

“aigoo, look at you glaring at me. you want to fight?”

and you’d feel intimidated by his challenging stare, the quirk of his eyebrow, his teeth sinking on his bottom lip… only if he didn’t blink to rake a stare over your body, lingering on your smooth legs that couldn’t be covered by your mere underwear. only if they didn’t flicker back to your face, and only if he didn’t smirk like a lovesick fool.

“so cute.” he chuckles. “you’re totally my type.”

“shut up.” you roll your eyes at the random compliment. “i know, i already get that a lot.”

his smile then fades, not so thrilled with the reminder that it’s so easy to fall in love with you, and therefore anyone would die to take his place. he knows that they hover around you like moths to a flame when he’s not there. well, he really can’t blame them, can he? you’re so fucking attractive.

“what does that mean…? who else is saying it, huh? tell me. i think i have a few guesses.”

“does it matter?” you stare at him blankly, which then turns into a piercing glare. “jungkook! i was just talking about you not paying enough attention. look at you proving me right!”

the stomp of your feet on the floor tells him that you’ve reached a level of frustration near to inducing a flood of tears.

oh, he truly got called out, huh?

“i’m sorry- i’m sorry. i admit that. i’m sorry, my love. i was just joking around. i’m listening well now.” he winces guiltily, beckoning you to be where he is. “come here then.”

“i don’t want to.” you stay rooted in your spot. “who do you think you are?”

“m-me…? i’m your boyfriend. boyfriend!” he points at himself, index finger repeatedly poking his bare chest to emphasize his point. his arm then drops to his side. his doe eyes widen as he breathes out a sigh of disbelief. “oh, i’m really getting upset now?”

you bite back a smile. the sweet taste of victory.

you can’t be the only one, can you?

“aish, i see you’re having your way again.” he chuckles, taking it upon himself to cross the distance between you. his hands find purchase on the curves of your waist, and every nerve in your body turns into a live wire. “let’s just go out today. do you want to practice boxing at the gym with me?”

didn’t he just watch you do arms day this morning? does he think you have the same stamina as him? you make a face of disapproval and shake your head.

“shall we go to a rage room again then? break more stuff?” he playfully sticks his tongue out, and you glare once more.

for the record, you loved that mug.

“boring.”

“and fighting with me is fun?”

you purse your lips into a thin line. “well, it’s not boring.”

“of course.” he laughs, softly squeezing your waist, pads of his thumbs mindlessly tracing shapes over the fabric of your top.

all of a sudden, he’s tugging you closer to envelope you in his embrace, voice slightly muffled as he sweetly talks. “are you mad at me for real? i’m sorry. sorry, sorry, sorry. sorry. i’ll really be more mindful of the things you remind me about, i swear… i don’t like fighting. it breaks my heart when you cry.”

what is this five foot ten man with bulging biceps, tattoo sleeve, and piercings doing here in the crook of your neck — affectionately nuzzling his face on your skin and telling you in a baby voice that he doesn’t like fighting?

you don’t know, but you feel good.

and his bare body is so comfortingly soft and warm.

he draws back for a kiss but his nose and lips only graze your cheek when you turn away, and you don’t see the sadness that flashes across his face.

“so what i’m hearing is… you don’t like fighting with me because i’m too sensitive? is that the truth?”

“no!” he perks up to interject without hesitation, shaking his head. “but i don’t think that’s a bad thing anyway… being sensitive.”

but you admit being a crybaby. you cry when you’re angry.

that’s when jungkook distinguishes the glint of mischief swimming in your irises. he feels dizzy after having his heart drop to his stomach.

“no. no, no.”

his mirthful grin returns, revealing his perfect set of teeth.

“ahh, i’m stressed!” he closes his eyes, throwing his head back, chest puffing up when he breathes in then out. “i knew it. no, i’m not falling for this trap!”

then he flees the room carrying the laundry basket, leaving you doubled over and covering your mouth to silence your giggles of amusement.

“i’m hanging the laundry now!”

“how dare you walk away from me?!”

“you can’t follow me!”

“i’m not.” you scoff, purposely bumping your hips against his. “i’ll vacuum the living room.”

—

“where are you going? gym?” you genuinely begin to sulk, watching your boyfriend slide into a baggy pair of bleached denim pants. “are you leaving me here?”

he avoids your inquiring eyes, ignoring you as he pulls up his zipper and does the button. you pout when he walks further away to pull out a black shirt from the clothing rack.

“is that it? are you tired of me already?”

he tosses its hanger in the basket where you discard the empty ones before wearing the final piece of clothing, covering himself fully for the first time today.

you sigh, feeling dejected. “you don’t love me anymore?”

and jungkook needs to physically restrain himself so he won’t grab your face and say ‘i love you’ over and over again until he runs out of breath.

you leave the closet to follow him to the bedroom, where he sits on the edge of the mattress to put on his socks.

you stand by him, patience quickly running thin. “hello?”

he brushes away the non-existent dirt on the left sock before switching his legs to put on the right one.

“did i turn invisible?”

your eyebrows furrow in disappointment. this isn’t how fighting works. you need a reaction at the very least.

you tug at the sleeve of his shirt, starting to get annoyed, already planning your exit if he continues this act. “you’re hurting my feelings. you’re not even going to look at me?”

he mumbles, and you almost fail to piece his phrase together. “can’t, you’re too pretty.”

his big brown eyes faintly glimmer with hope when he looks up at you, puckering his rose-tinted lips and making kissing sounds.

your sweet and clingy boyfriend, he’s making this too difficult.

a tsunami of affection washes over you, and it becomes impossible for you not to crack at his cheekiness then. “jungkook, you’re impossible!”

atleast he tried to shoot his shot.

“tsk, see? i thought so!” he grumbles, snapping the elastic band on his ankle. “just want one kiss.”

he disappears into the closet again.

he returns not a minute later, unceremoniously placing a white bucket hat on your head before tugging it down to obstruct your vision.

“hey!”

you hastily take it off, scowling at your laughing boyfriend who turns out to be already wearing a black bucket hat of his own.

“you’re bored, aren’t you? let’s go out, have some sun.”

“no.”

you reply exactly as your boyfriend predicted you would.

jungkook captures your wrist to slip his credit card on your palm, folding your fingers over it, but they aren’t enough to hide the black rectangular thing you can use to buy the world with if you wanted to. your amusement spills out as giggles, brighter as he pushes your hand to your chest so you have no other choice but to accept it.

he scrunches his nose, face only inches away from yours as he persuades you with his natural charm. “what if we go shopping, hmm?”

“thanks babe, but i can’t think of anything i want right now.” you sniffle with teary eyes, flipping the card and holding it between your longest fingers as muscle memory takes control.

“then just keep it incase you see something you want.”

he kneels on the floor out of the blue, and you eye him curiously, your fingers automatically tangling with his silky locks before making a loose fist.

“here, put some pants on. hurry-” he presents your pair of faded gray cargo pants.

you tug at his hair lightly, which prompts him to lift his head. you scrunch your nose cutely, giggling. “i’m spoiled.”

“ey, so what if you are?” he brushes off your observation with his satoori accent, blithe tone listing down reasons. “i love you. i worked hard so i can do these things for you. we moved in together so we can take care of each other.”

and you want to cry. you truly do. your face began to feel warm after he said that he loves you, but the tears never make it past your lash line when his big palm lands a loud smack on your ass, skin-to skin.

“but i do think that you are a brat. does that count for something?”

it catches you by surprise, and a scandalized gasp escapes your mouth as you feel the sting spreading across your skin.

“shut up! give that to me.” you roll your eyes, stealing the pants from his grasp.

“see, that’s what i’m talking about.” he chuckles lightheartedly. “get dressed then.”

his fingers dig in the soft flesh of your thighs when he pulls you closer to kiss the tiny little ribbon on your underwear, heart-shaped lips pressed to you so firmly you can trace their outline bleeding through the thin fabric and onto your skin. “mmm-mwah!”

and then you feel them there next, where it still hurts, a softer kiss in comparison to soothe the sting he left behind.

your heart is beating so loud you can feel it in your throat, feeble knees nearly giving away to crash and break.

who does that so casually? who the hell does that?

oh, right… jungkook. of course.

you raise the white flag today.

perhaps he will flood the apartment tomorrow, and you can stay angry longer then.

—

“what’s taking him so long?” you mutter absentmindedly to yourself, lost eyes scanning the park in hopes of getting a glimpse of your boyfriend and his classic jungkook outfit, but he’s still nowhere to be seen.

your sour mood makes a reappearance.

to your credit, taking you out and then asking you to wait here without telling you where he’s going is rude, and you’re lonely and jealous of the couples around you having a picnic. not to mention that the clouds have uncovered the sun and you’re burning.

this scene also leads your brain to wander to those cliche flashbacks in a film or a show where a parent lies to their child that they’ll come back, and then they doesn’t. it’s always, always at some sort of park.

oh, for fuck’s sake, why are you wasting your time giving this a lot of thought?

too bored and antsy to sit still, you finally decide to text jungkook.

to: my baby love

i'm gonna look for food. do you want anything?

orrr is that what you're away buying 😥

WHERE ARE YOU

why didn't you just take me with youuuu

?

please me lonely :(

[sent 1 photo]

a black cat !! is sleeping on my shoes!! 😭

i miss you :(

are you almost done

i hate u

whatever i'm going. call if you still remember that you're someone's bf i guess.

—

jungkook crosses the street like an excited puppy, long pretty hair bouncing as he practically skips his way to the area where he left you to wait.

only to be greeted by a complete stranger.

his radiant beam fades into a hue of confusion.

the bench is now occupied by a woman chugging an energy drink after running laps around the park.

they lock eyes for a split second. he averts his befuddled stare to pretend that nothing happened, walking past her with a bouquet of sunflowers until he settles down two benches away.

he wears his bucket hat again only for him to throw it aside with a sigh, messing with his hair to release his frustration. of course you left. he can only snort to himself while he reads the last message you sent. you’re so cute. he knows you’ve never been keen on having to wait, but he didn’t expect himself to take so long either.

not wanting you to be upset with him another second longer, he instantly decides to call you.

his forehead creases when his phone vibrates, informing him that he typed an incorrect password. he tries again, slow and deliberate, only for the same thing to happen, and he begins to feel nervous.

what the fuck?

okay, calm down, JK. one more time.

he freezes as the same words flash on the screen. his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he feels the irritation bubbling up inside of him.

“why is it like this…? what’s your problem? what am i touching wrong?”

—

you return to the park more carefree than before. since jungkook is god knows where, you decided to have a picnic on your own. you had to buy a new picnic blanket, though. you can’t get the one in the car because he has the key. but just to be petty, you hope that he figured it out from the text notifications he got when you used his card.

oh, there he is looking angrily at his phone.

you halt on your tracks, instantly pulling the brakes on your feet when you recognize your boyfriend from your peripheral vision. you slowly chew the remaining tteokbokki in your mouth.

he’s holding his phone… and he hasn’t called you yet?

“wow, did you seriously forgot about me?”

upon hearing your familiar voice, jungkook’s features soften, not having to squint at the sunlight either because you’ve kindly blocked it with your back.

“where did you even go? i didn’t see you!”

the password-protected device that’s been giving him a headache for the past ten minutes is abandoned in the depths of his pocket.

“baby,” he utters airily as he stands on his feet, reaching out to hold your forearm. “i’m sorry. i took so long, didn’t i…? i went to buy you flowers but they didn’t have tulips anywhere. anywhere. every shop said someone bought all of them!”

he scratches his head with a sheepish grin, revealing the bouquet he’s been concealing behind him.

“i got you sunflowers instead… they-” he points at them, eyes flickering on the bundle of yellow flowers he’s offering as a gift. “they’re not bad. i think they’re pretty too. you like them too, right?”

sunflowers are pretty. after all, it used to be your favorite in middle school, mostly because it’s the first flower you received from an admirer… it was for your birthday and you felt like you died when it withered, heavily on-brand for a young heart drawn to romance. excluding that, everything has changed. it’s a typical saturday and beads of sweat have formed on your lover’s forehead after running around under the sun. you think you can keep them alive longer this time around.

“i like you the most.”

and then he receives his gift in return, that particularly sweet smile of yours he only sees when you’re so giddy.

his heart flutters wildly at your following actions.

“kiss.” you adorably demand, copying his pout earlier when he was asking for a kiss.

but unlike you who left his wish ungranted, he crosses the distance to plant a kiss on your lips. he pulls away a mere three inches, muttering to confront you. “but i thought you hated me?”

“who said that? that wasn’t me.” you feign ignorance, eyes so wide as to mimic being confused. you carefully take the flowers into your embrace, subtly exchanging it with the paper bowl you’re holding. “thank you, baby… here, do you want tteokbokki?”

he goes for the fish cake first, poking it with the stick and popping it in his mouth. you find yourself too absorbed in admiring the sunflowers one by one to sense your boyfriend staring at you, thinking to himself, you’re always worth the effort and this overpriced tteokbokki is pretty damn good.

“i turned on my location like i promised i would. did you see?” you mention without looking at him, acting laidback, still too shy when anything related to the incident is brought up.

he awkwardly smiles. no, he didn’t, unfortunately. he’s still fucking locked out of his phone.

you whimper when he pinches your cheek. “good job, baby.”

—

jungkook removes his head on your stomach to lie down beside you on the red picnic blanket. his hair touches his face and he tucks them behind his ears for the millionth time today.

“will you type my password for me?”

you take his phone without question, putting yours over your chest for the meantime. you successfully unlock it within a second, experienced fingers nimble after years of typing on the daily.

“here.” you hold it out for him without looking, picking up your own phone to continue scrolling through trending topics. however, seconds pass and the heavy weight on your hand has yet to be eased, so you wiggle it to catch his attention. “hey, it’s done.”

he gasps, gaping at you in bewilderment. “how did you do that?”

“you changed it again last night, remember? because i told you our anniversary isn’t a good idea.”

shit, right. he added a new one to the list of passwords that he uses for everything. he totally forgot about that. you’ve taken over every working brain cell that he has in his body.

“baby, this is your fault!” he groans, finally snatching away his phone. “ah- i wanted to throw it away. i didn’t know what was wrong with it. i was seriously so close to crying!”

that bad? was he about to get all his data wiped out? your poor baby. you laugh out loud at his reaction, belly aching as you roll over to wrap your arm around his waist and bury your face on his side.

“anyone can guess it if they try hard enough.”

“but that was the trick, you know? they’d think it’s too easy. they wouldn’t even consider it!”

“that doesn’t mean they won’t try it!”

“ah, i don’t care. i’m changing it back.” he stubbornly pouts, falling back on the blanket.

you want to cuddle. he feels a tug on the sleeve of his shirt and he immediately understands. he allows you to use his tattooed arm as a pillow. it envelopes you entirely when he reaches for his phone to type with both hands, and you automatically snuggle with him closer by resting your head on his chest.

“fine. do what you want, you dummy. you better not leave your phone lying around.” you mutter, heavy eyelids fluttering shut as the wind blows to softly caress your face. “and don’t take more pictures of me sleeping.”

“you’re sleeping? i thought we’re going to the mall.”

“we are. i’m letting you rest before you carry shopping bags.”

“ah- wow. thanks, baby.”

you don’t how much time passes, a minute or ten or more, but falling into a deep sleep proves to be impossible with the cacophony of sounds you’re surrounded with. you’re resting somewhere away from the crowd, but there’s still the hiphop music from a bluetooth speaker, honking of vehicles… and the main culprit, jeon jungkook scrolling through tiktok on your phone and bookmarking videos for you to watch later on. you can hear his giggles louder than his heartbeat, feel them make his body vibrate throughout.

so, you give up. you open your blurry eyes with a tired sigh, blinking to readjust to the brightness. he feels your movements, your nose brushing against his neck, and he squeezes you to his side, dutifully stroking your head to remind you that you’re safe despite being in a public place because you’re with him. you kiss his cheek to show your appreciation.

you end up harmonizing with his giggles when you do decide to join him, nearly tearing up at the sight of a cat riding a motorcycle toy on the screen. a little while later, your fascination is then stolen by fiddling with his tattooed hand — tracing the veins, the lines, the tattoos; pressing the faded heart like it’s a button connected to the beating one in his ribcage; grazing the rough areas of his palm calloused by lifting heavy weights.

and as you do so, you mull over the house by the sea you’re saving up for. how much longer will it take? should you check out more locations? do you tell jungkook? that it’s your back-up plan, a place where no one knows your name, just like how this city once was. it’s where you would run to, where you would build a new life if the time comes that this one falls apart, too. if not, if not, if not, would it be so bad to wake up beside you with an ocean view when he’s sixty?

fuck, you don’t know anymore. it shouldn’t be this hard— not anticipating the worst, but still being prepared for it. you despise being an adult.

you do it absentmindedly, taking off one of your silver rings and slipping it into each of his fingers to see where it would fit best… he knows you’re only entertaining yourself, but feeling it in his ring finger still puts a lump in his throat.

“are you proposing to me?”

“this is your right hand, silly.” you tease your stunned boyfriend, sticking your tongue out. “if you want me, come and get me.”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

[teh-tj]

Greenbelt Maryland. Or, how America almost solved housing only to abandon it.

**I AM NOT AN EXPERT! I AM JUST AN ENTHUSIST! DO NOT TREAT MY OPINIONS/SPECULATION AS EDUCATION!**

During the Depression America faced a housing crisis that rhymes with but differs from our own. It’s different in that there wasn’t a supply issue, there were loads of houses in very desirable areas, but they were still unaffordable as people’s incomes collapsed causing a deflationary spiral. While the housing supply subtly grew and succeeded demand, people simply couldn’t pay the meager rents and mortgages. Herbert Hoover failed to manage the Depression, while his inaction is greatly exaggerated, his policy of boosting the economy with works projects and protecting banks from runs failed and the depression only got more pronounced in his term. In comes Franklin Roosevelt, a progressive liberal much like his distant and popular cousin/uncle-in-law Teddy. Franklin’s plan was to create a large safety net for people to be able to be economically viable even if they’re otherwise poor. These reforms are called the New Deal and they did many controversial things like giving disabled and retired people welfare, giving farmers conditioned subsidies to manipulate the price of food, a works program to build/rebuild vital infrastructure, etc. One of these programs was the USHA (a predecessor of America’s HUD), an agency created to build and maintain public housing projects with the goal of creating neighborhoods with artificially affordable rents so people who work low-wage jobs or rely on welfare can be housed.

In this spirit, the agency started experimenting with new and hopefully efficient housing blueprints and layouts. If you ever see very large apartment towers or antiquated brick low-rise townhouses in America, they might be these. The USHA bought land in many large and medium-sized cities to build “house-in-park” style apartments, which is what they sound like. Putting apartment buildings inside green spaces so residents can be surrounded by greenery and ideally peacefully coexist. Three entire towns were built with these ideas outside three medium-sized cities that were hit hard by the depression; Greenbelt outside DC, Greenhills outside Cincinnati, and Greendale outside Milwaukee. The idea was to move people out of these crowded cities into these more sustainable and idyllic towns. There were many catches though, the USHA planned for these towns to be all-white, they used to inspect the houses for cleanliness, they required residents to be employed or on Social Security (which basically meant retired or disabled), they also had an income limit and if your income exceeded that limit you were given a two-month eviction notice, and you were expected to attend town meetings at least monthly. While the towns didn’t have religious requirements they did only build protestant churches. Which is an example of discrimination by omission. While a Catholic, Jew, Muslim, etc could in theory move into town they also couldn’t go to a Catholic church, synagogue, or Islamic center without having to extensively travel. Things planned communities leave out might indicate what kind of people planned communities want to leave out. Basically, the whole thing was an experiment in moving Americans into small direct-democracy suburbs as opposed to the then-current system of crowded cities and isolated farm/mine towns. This type of design wasn’t without precedent, there were famously company towns like Gary and Pullman which both existed outside Chicago. But those lacked the autonomy and democracy some USHA apparatchiks desired.

The green cities were a series of low-rise apartments housing over a hundred people each, they were short walks from a parking lot and roads, and walking paths directly and conveniently led residents to the town center which had amenities and a shopping district. Greenbelt in particular is famous for its art deco shopping complex, basically an early mall where business owners would open stores for the townspeople. These businesses were stuck being small, given the income requirements, but it was encouraged for locals to open a business to prove their entrepreneurial spirit. Because city affairs were elected at town meetings the city was able to pull resources to eventually build their own amenities the USHA didn’t originally plan for like a public swimming pool or better negotiated garbage collection.

These three cities were regarded as a success by the USHA until World War II happened and suddenly they showed flaws given the shift in focus. These towns housed poor people who barely if at all could afford a car, so semi-isolated towns outside the city became redundant and pointless. The USHA also had to keep raising the income requirement since the war saw a spike in well-paying jobs which made the town unsustainable otherwise. During the war and subsequent welfare programs to help veterans, these green cities became de facto retirement and single-mother communities for a few years as most able-bodied men were drafted or volunteered. Eventually, the USDA would make the towns independent, after the war they raised the income limit yet again and slowly the towns repopulated. As cars became more common and suburbanization became a wider trend these towns would be less noticeably burdensome and were eventually interpreted as just three out of hundreds of small suburban towns that grew out of major cities. They were still all-white and the town maintained cleanliness requirements; after all they lived in apartments it just takes one guy’s stink-ass clogged toilet to ruin everyone’s day.

By the 1950’s these towns were fully independent. Greendale and Greenhills voted to privatize their homes and get rid of the income limit all together so the towns can become more normal. Greenhills, Ohio still has many of these USHA-era houses and apartments, all owned by a series of corporations and private owners. Greendale, Wisconsin property owners have demolished most of these old houses and restructured their town government so most traces of its founding are lost. But Greenbelt, Maryland still maintains a lot of its structure to this day. Greenbelt has privatized some land and buildings, but most of the original USHA apartments are owned by the Greenbelt Homes, Inc cooperative which gives residents co-ownership of the building they live in and their payments mostly go to maintenance. Because Greenbelt was collectively owned the House Un-American Activities Committee would blacklist and put on trial most of Greenbelt’s residents and officials. Though they didn’t find much evidence of communist influence, the town was a target of the red scare by the DMV area, residents were discriminated, blacklisted, and pressured into selling their assets. While Greenbelt did commodify some of the town, the still existing co-ownership shows the town’s democratic initiative to maintain its heritage. The green cities desegregated in the 50’s and 60’s depending on state law, Greenbelt was the last to desegregate under the Civil Rights Act of 1964, while discrimination persisted for years by the 1980’s the town would become half non-white, today the town is 47% black and 10% Asian.

Though these towns largely integrated with a privatized and suburbanized America, they do stand as a memorial to an idea of American urbanism that died. They were designed for walkability and were planned to be more democratic and egalitarian towns, with the conditions that came with segregation and government oversight. You can’t ignore the strict standards and racism in their history, but you can say that about many towns. How do you think America would be different if more cities had green suburbs that were more interconnected and designed for community gatherings?

[onioned]

I HAVE SO MANY thoughts on sparklings/carrying/transformers reproduction. I feel like a lot of fics end up doing a 1:1 with human pregnancies as a reference and while ITS OK it could be more fun. So some thoughts:

It's always the stronger creator that carries. This is due to the drain on carrier resources as well as sparkling size (a minibot won't be having a shuttle). Receiving partner has no influence on who gets sparked. Spark merges create sparkling, not just interface. This is SOMETIMES also determined by size, but not necessarily! Sparklings are generally the same size when they're born, CNA will later determine how large they get

Gestation time depends on available resources! Growth will slow down if there's a lack of materials to build with. Because of longevity, carrying periods are long in general.

Spark merges are more important than transfluid 🫡 (transfluid feels too fuck or die to me, it's still useful to fuel growth but a carrier can provide it on their own, growth will just slow down). A spark merge is how the sparkling gets most of its power during the creation process! Until completely built, it struggles to maintain its own spark.

Forges don't change in size (this one I'm always back and forth on, but I'm sticking to this for the following reasons). Carriers are made to function normally while carrying, as this helps to protect the sparkling! Carriers are rarely obviously carrying. Sparklings are small (depending on creators)

When born sparklings are soft! Their plating hardens after a few cycles. They also partially transform for ease of emergence

Sparklings start as just a spark! Kindled from a spark merge. It will attach to the stronger creator spark and while it strengthens, its protoform will begin to grow in the carriers forge. The spark splits after the protoform is built enough to support its spark! It still regains a direct line to the carriers spark which continues to supply auxiliary power as it grows. The sparkling cant move/think until attached to its body. Generally that's when its EM field starts projecting

I also think sparklings have no assigned gender AT ALL. all transformers are already intersex basically, and gender is a preference so 🫡 sparklings normally have neutral pronouns until they're able to decide their presentation

This is just my ramblings LOLLL

[wwaheoh]

“Your Hot Furry Boyfriend Takes You on a Date But Then Ethereal Horrors Beyond Your Understanding Interrupt [ASMR]” Von Lycaon x gnReader (Romantic)

a/n: was listening to an actual asmr rp video and realized how down bad i am

The cold night breeze whistled through the streets, a coat lended to you by your boyfriend, Von Lycaon, stopping you from feeling it in its entirety. There weren’t many others on the street, only a couple others milling about. Shops were beginning to be closed, street lamps buzzing to life, owls and cicadas beginning to sing as the Sun began to dip itself under the horizon.

Snuggling closely to your boyfriend, he wrapped his arm around you, the warmth of his fur and the solid feeling of his toned body provided were comforts of steady warmth. Smiling, the two of you continued on to your shared apartment, basking in each other's presence.

Then there was a boom.

Shattering the serenity of the evening, a dark pulsating sphere burst out in the middle of the area they were in. Screams rang out as people began to run away from the ever-growing ball. A newly formed Hollow was emerging.

Lycaon moved quickly, taking his phone out and dialing his colleague, “Rina, there’s a Hollow forming on Fifth Street.” He held you firmly, beginning to basically carry you as he moved to get you as far as possible from the emerging Hollow. “You know what to do.” Hanging up from his phone before pocketing it, he turned to you. “Let’s go Dear.”

Only a few steps before the Hollow burst, enclosing the entirety of the surrounding area in its new space-warping environment.

“Faster than expected…” He murmured to himself, a sense of worry building in him- though not outwardly exposing it, mannerisms learned from his years as part of Victoria Housekeeping. Without a Proxy, there was no way they could get out without getting lost within the Hollow themselves. All they could do was,

“Wait for Miss Rina.” Lycaon held you tight, knowing that your Ether Aptitude was way less than his. A safe estimation would be that you had twenty-three minutes until your time ran out. That would not happen.

As the two of you ventured throughout the Hollow, aiming to either encounter Public Security or be located by Phaethon- either way, being sitting ducks was not an option. At your behest, the both of you searched for survivors. It seemed most people followed protocols, encouraged to learn it by heart from a young age. You couldn’t not know what to do in case of a sudden Hollow appearing when living in New Eridu after all.

Just as you were looking through some windows, searching for the elderly or those unable to escape, Lycaon rushed forward in a blur of white being trailed by a cool blue. An Ethereal. It had just rounded the corner before being split into two and ultimately disintegrating back into the Unknown Substance of the Hollow. You rushed to be closer to him, before he raised his hand.

His ears rotated before his fur stood up. A break in his characteristic cool composure. Quickly, he grabbed you before you could even react and rushed the two of you behind an alley. Just as you were about to speak, he covered you mouth. You moved to shoot him a look of indignation before getting a good look at the expression he wore. Worried.

A shadow passed through the streets. It was large, about the size of a firetruck. Looking up, the two of you became petrified at the sight of the Ethereal. Bigger than any ever recorded, squid-like in it’s appearance. It flowed through the skies like water, a dead gaze as it searched for… something.

“Psst!”

The two of you jumped, Lycaon nearly punting the pint-sized newcomer before stopping himself midway through, the now recognized-Bangboo raising its small arms in surrender. “Wait! Miss Rina sent me!”

“Ah, Master Proxy. I apologize.”

“It’s fine! That weird squid Ethereal is something I’d expect to see at the Outpost! But forget that, let’s get you out of here.”

“Please, I think we have about thirteen minutes left.”

“Isn’t your Aptitude high?”

Lyacon motioned to you, with you waving as the Bangboo waved back.

The Bangboo turned back to the wolf-Thiren.

“Is that your…?”

“Significant other? Yes.”

“Wow! For some reason I both did and didn’t expect that…” The Bangboo muttered to themselves before turning back to lead them. Then they stopped before quickly motioning for everyone to hide.

The shadow of the titan-sized Ethereal passed by once more, now seemingly closer to touching down onto the ground than before.

“Alright let’s go!” The Bangboo whisper-yelled, waving for them to follow. As they passed and rounded a few more corners, the Bangboo seemed to have gotten a premonition, “Ethereals!” Lyacon burst forward to protect the team as mentioned Etherals burst out of the woodwork, black charcoal bodies with green oozing out from their underbody.

He stepped forward before bursting into motion, leaving a small crater where he used the ground as a starter block. Quickly disposing of the enemies in a professional matter, none of the Ethereals could even hope to land an attack as he fought, decimating their numbers with practiced ease.

Taking out his watch as you and the Bangboo caught up with him, you noticed a furrow in his brow. Questioning it, he replied, “Eight more minutes. Phatheon, we must hurry.”

“Right!” The Bangboo replied, scurrying forward to lead the group out once more. Passing through a few portals. The tell-tale sound of Public Security vehicles and Rescue Bangboo becoming more audible as your group began to reach the exit.

“EEEAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!”

A screech that could be heard from all throughout the Hollow, turning back, all three of you watched as the Ethereal noticed your group, having sacrificed hiding for efficiency in haste to get out. The being began to approach with frightening haste, unnatural in how something so big could move so fast.

Breaking out of his stupor fast, Lycaon hoisted you and the Bangboo up with his arms and began to sprint in the direction Phaethon pointed them in before being disrupted.

“Where to Master Phaethon?”

“Left!”

“Now take a right!”

“One more- oh jeez it’s catching up!”

Lyacon used every ounce of strength in each push his legs gave, pushing through stray smaller Ethereals, not wanting to give the monstrosity chasing them a chance to catch up. After a few more blocks, it had gotten so close that you could hear the squelching of it’s tendrils, with it only being stopped by the buildings. Just as it seemed that it would begin to make a grab at Lyacon, gunfire rang out.

Public Security, with this particular group headed by Zhu Yuan and Qingyi, with backup from neighboring departments as well as their very own, laid down gunfire on the Ethereal. Forcing it to evade to avoid taking the brunt of the firepower being let out on it.

“Phatheon!”

“One more right!”

He barreled forward, just as a wave of nausea hit you. Two more minutes.

Sprinting forward, he fell into one final tear in reality, arriving in a space in front of the Hollow.

Setting you and the Bangboo down, he let you catch your breath as he reconvend with Phaethon.

“I am in your debt, Master Proxy. Money will be forward-”

“I- It’s fine Sir!”

“Pardon?”

“Just for this once! Take it as a token of good faith.”

Lyacon smiled, nodding as he turned his attention back to you, leaving the Bangboo to return back home.

“Are you okay?” “‘m fine… just tired.” “Of course, let's have you checked then we can return home, okay?” “Mm…”

You nodded off to sleep as he lifted you in his arms, taking you over to the doctor to get checked. Waking you up only for a little bit before falling right back to sleep after all the tests were done. You were cleared- only being exhausted from prolonged exposure to the Hollow.

Setting you softly onto the shared bed, Lycaon softly caressed the top of your head. Thankful for having been able to get you out with minimal roadblocks. Had the two of you been even a little slower…

Best not to think about it.

Later, the Hollow would be contained once more through the combined efforts of Public Security and the military sector based in Scott Outpost. Only a few casualties- a testimony to the effectiveness of their efficiency.

[blorbocedes]

ok hear me out.... totally crazy idea.... max / lando mind games

Lando stops from where he's grinding against Max's thigh to look up hesitantly. "Hey, you're not like, mad at me from last week's radio, right? Cause Daniel was saying in the media..."

Max is broken out of his spacing out, blinking and then frowning as he registers Lando's words. "I have not spoken to Daniel." His hand curls against Lando's thigh.

Lando nods. Right. Cause it would be pretty awkward of them to be doing this if Max was mad at him. Max's thigh is a solid weight under him and his dick is missing the friction already. They're not supposed to have sex during race week so they improvise. This is basically building core strength for Lando.

"So, we're cool." Lando says nonchalantly, squeezing Max's shoulder in a friendly manner and also to balance himself, gearing himself ready to start back up. His underwear had pooled a small wet spot of precome already.

This time Max stops him. The grip on his waist tightens, stopping his hips from moving. Max holds his gaze in that intense eye contact he likes to hold, that Lando can't shy away from. "Why would we not be cool? It is, of course, your championship to win now,"

Lando's dick is so hard, it twinges in pain. To gain some leverage, he palms Max's half-hard cock through his briefs.

"Which makes it my championship to lose." Max finishes wryly.

"Don't say that." Lando mutters, ears going red, flaming downwards. Lando thumbs Max's bulbous tip to be petty, and Max digs his thumb and fingers into the soft flesh of Lando's waist, who takes the opportunity to continue rutting against him. He knows, okay, Lando knows it's a possibility even as he tells everyone he's taking it one race at a time. There's a chance. But it's also Max. And Max is the driver he rates the most, why it feels so, so rewarding to beat him. 70 points is not nothing, in 9 races, anything can happen. A single safety car can change the entire standings.

Lando grinds against Max's thigh, bare skin against harsh sensations of cotton making him feel all sorts of frayed. This entire year, he wanted to be taken seriously as a title contender and now everybody's treating like it's a done deal, causing major whiplash.

"Why not? It's true." Max says matter-of-factly, appearing unruffled even as his pupils are completely dark drowning out that ocean blue as he watches Lando's breathing get faster and his hands on Lando are practically pulling his hips forward in rhythm.

"You've got the same chance as me, mate." Lando's heart rate is speeding up. He paws at Max's dick, which is now fully erect, and jerks it off in harsh strokes. It's a nice dick, average sized on the girther end, not terrifyingly large like in porn. Very friend shaped. "It's still anybody's game."

By anybody he means just the two of them. But then again, Max knows that too.

"I can only outdrive the car. You have the fastest car. 9 perfect races. Vettel's done it before," The 'I've done it' goes unsaid but heard regardless. "It's in your hands now."

The only trophy in Lando's hands right now is attached to Max. Fuck you, Lando thinks. When he was first starting to jerk off as a hormonal teenager, he was scared he was doing it so much he would rip it straight off. He imagines ripping it off Max, blood spurting everywhere, misses the race, the championship is secured. He doesn't actually want to do that. He imagines getting on his knees, and taking Max's length in its entirety in his mouth - the way he can never quite manage in real life - look up at him, recently as heavenly light shines on him. The pressure is building in the pit of Lando's stomach, he's thinking every thought that crosses his head to find the one that pushes him over the edge into sweet release.

"When you're in the fastest car, everything below first in underperforming." Max is rolling his own hips now too, voice more breathy.

"You think I don't fucking know that?" Lando snaps, emotional regulation out of bounds, as if he isn't very well aware of the mountain to climb, the ones Max has scaled and back. They're all fucking competitors. Second place is first loser.

Max pulls Lando close, their dicks finally, finally making contact through two thin layers of cotton. Still, he can feel the weight, the shape of it under him and it feels obscene. Like pretend sex, instead of the real thing. The touch feels electrifying, even as it's not enough. They're in a kind of fucked up embrace, hips moving in tandem. Max pats Lando's back reassuringly, going down to his spine.

"Come on. We can be World Champion, Lando." His words are mocking, but they do it for Lando who buries his groan into Max's neck, feeling his orgasm being pulled out from him.

Max doesn't let him relish in the afterglow, wastes no time in taking Lando's hand and pulling it down his pants and jerks himself off. He bites Lando's shoulder as he finishes, making Lando twitch, spilling over both of their hands.

Finally, Lando flops over him on the sofa, both of them sharing wet patches on the front of their underwear. When the high from the orgasm subsides, the shame of rubbing one out against his main rival's leg and wanting his approval creeps in.

9 perfect races swims in his head.

He knows Max will do everything in his power to win, it just doesn't occur to him he's one of those things too.

[yodawgiheardyoulikemecha]

“Gundam Assemble is a tabletop strategy game where players use miniature Gunpla figures to create armies and engage in tactical battles,” said Tatsuro Kawashima, who built the mechanical system that the game is based on. “The core gameplay is focusing on the strategic unit placement, actually playing these objective-based missions. So it is designed to appeal to both hardcore miniatures gamers and the casual fan of the Gundam franchises. The game draws inspiration from miniature wargames — from 40K, to BattleTech, to Star Wars: Shatterpoint. Bandai is aiming to create an experience that’s accessible for new players while allowing strategic depth for the seasoned gamer.” Bandai explained that players will be in control of a Gundam team. They will then use that team to play through a story-driven campaign with objectives linking individual missions. “I think it’s most similar to BattleTech [...] but so far it’s a little bit difficult to [share] the details,” said Kawashima. “The basic concept is to play a big team featuring your favorite mobile suits. However, since this is a game based on Gundam IP, we also want to offer special scenarios, limited battles that evoke the original storyline to help the player to feel connected to the source material.” As far as terrain or other accessories, Bandai has not yet finalized what will come with Gundam Assemble The final product will likely include the game board, dice, and cards that show the details of each unit in-game — and in-fiction, including details like Gundam height. While hex-based movement is integral to the game at this time, Bandai said that it hasn’t ruled out other gameplay modes that use rulers or other tools to allow units to move more freely. That means massed battles of Gunpla could be on the horizon — but for now, at least, the company is laser-focused on this smaller footprint game. For the designers at Bandai, it was particularly important to translate the intricate detail of their large, elaborate models to the smaller size of a tabletop miniature. That meant actually making them a bit bigger than traditional 28 mm- or 32 mm-scale models. At 5 centimeters (roughly 2 inches) tall, each Gunpla miniature will tower over a traditional 40K Assault Intercessor, and will even have a bit of reach on a Captain in Gravis armor. They’re also very highly detailed. “Many of the models in this Assemble kit are based on existing High Grade Gunpla [kits],” said Jun Someya, a member of the Gundam Assemble planning and development staff. “In order to efficiently create cool poses with a small number of parts, the angle of the arms has been carefully adjusted. For parts that would not otherwise be visible, they were purposefully omitted or molded [in place].” Of course, most model-makers don’t paint their Gunpla. Tabletop gamers often do paint their miniatures, though, and Bandai is hoping its design will cater to their unique needs — especially folks who are looking to build up their “shelf army.” “We thought the size would satisfy customers who display their individual miniatures,” Someya said. “Also, the size would be perfect for painting Gundams, which have very small faces and armor plates. Maybe it would be bigger than other products, but we felt that 5 centimeters would be perfect for both these purposes.” Expect more information on Gundam Assemble soon. Early figures will be sold in special bundles with the Gundam Card Game — which Bandai confirmed is a completely separate product.

[transsexualhamlet]

so as some of yall may know I work in my college at the school's costume shop, with higher pay (by 50 cents per hour lol) than the other workers because I have the role of Costume Shop Jonathan Sims.

because the costume shop was moving from one building to another (due to the old one being filled with asbestos and mold+ not having drinkable water in the building for several years) I haven't gotten to actually do any work for that actual position yet. However today was the first time I actually got to do duties for this job, and really. got a sense of how Gertrude Robinson Fucked the costume collection really is.

For scale, the college's historic costume collection has over 1000 garments from throughout the 1800s and 1900s, and this costume collection has been managed almost exclusively by overworked college students paid 8 dollars an hour who each had the position for less than three years and had basically zero qualifications in archival. (sound familiar?)

The costumes are all held in about 100 large extremely dusty boxes of various sizes and shapes precariously balanced in a cramped room, which are all labeled variously with at least 3 different non-correlating numbers and with various unlabeled clothes inside with zero organizational system. This collection is Not Being Moved with the rest of the costume shop, and therefore my job has me, and only me, continuing to work in the asbestos mold building with various insect infestations and several orders for its demolishing in effect.

Um. So today I got access to the google drive which has "everything I need for my job" in it. The google drive is the least organized thing I have ever seen in my life, of which the folders consist of

no longer needed docs for grants long passed

personal student projects unrelated to the shop

LIKE FIVE DIFFERENT NON-CORRELATING ORGANIZATIONAL SPREADSHEETS ALL CLAIMING TO BE THE CORRECT ONE, each of which has non-explained color coding, different accession number systems and box numbers, and dozens of "MISSING" notes

6 or so different documents on how the position was supposed to be run from various past collection managers, one from 2011, one from 2013, one from 2015, one from 2019, and one from 2023, literally none of which match up and all denounce each other

an untitled document which literally just says "9/22/23: everything is messed up and it's terrible"

One thing about me is that within two months I fear I will be hiding in secret tunnels mumbling into a tape recorder.

so my job today, as the professor in charge of the costume shop told me, was to "look at the spreadsheet and familiarize yourself with the descriptions of the clothing in Box 1." The "final" spreadsheet which she sent me and told me was the right one had only boxes. Um. 3-75. It just started with 3. The "old" spreadsheet started with box 10, and a hidden third spreadsheet did include a box one, but with zero descriptions attached to it. When asked, the professor tells me that I should "just treat box 3 like box one" and "disregard the actual box one". We are unaware if there is an actual box labeled with the number 1 in the costume shop.

because we are not technically allowed in that building anymore (which jobs like mine disregard) the facilities no longer comes in to clean the building. there is a MASSIVE earwig infestation in the costume shop and there is NOTHING we can do about it

she literally just told me "if you see them step on them"

....so well, you know what happened to me if I start showing up in your dreams covered in eyes, I guess

[rakoval500k-blog]

Diabolocervus, The Not-Deer, or my take on Not-Deer cryptid/creepypasta as a dangerous, foul-tempered and hog-eating Entelodontid, which i dubbed "Diabolocervus". NSFW for partially eaten feral hog.

In the forests of the Appalachian Mountains, an elusive creature is said to be seen. It is said to resemble a normal deer when one looks at it from afar, yet this resemblance wanes steadily as you are closing the distance to it. Size that rivals that of the very largest bull moose(plural), heavier bodily build, long legs that are thicker than that of any actual deer, strange, seemingly undersized antlers and the form of its head are the features that catch one’s eye.

But the entirety of its ferocious exterior reveals itself when this animal is just in the several dozens of yards from whomever is looking at it, and even more is revealed when it is found after a successful hunt. It looks with the pair of sharp, forward facing eyes highlighted by thick, bright-colored brow ridges and characteristic, highly pronounced cheekbones. Underneath the wide snout remotely resembling that of a hyena, one sees a maw with massive canine teeth. The size and bulk of these jaws suggests that this beast is indeed capable of breaking skulls and legs with its monstrous bite. The coarse, tough coat of the Not-Deer resembles that of a wild boar rather than that of a deer. The tail is short, with a large dark brush. The hooves are unlike that of deers either - these are sharp and more separated, evolved for doubling as an offensive weapon.

The overall impression of this animal might remind the viewer about something that could exist in the ancient times, long before humans started walking straight, yet long after the extinction of dinosaurs. And it is, in fact, an actual descendant of such an animal. It is a vestige of the long-gone era of Miocene - an Entelodont, to be precise. Its “antlers” have, in fact, gradually evolved from enormous cheekbone protrusions seen in the skull of Archaeotherium. The reason why the bone growths of that particular Entelodont lineage moved upwards and to the back of the skull is a subject of debates. These “antlers” mostly consist of keratin, with only a lower, basic part of it being an extension of a skull, which resembles the horns of a pronghorn, despite being so different externally. Much like the pronghorn, the keratinous part of these horns gets shed and regrows annually. Female horns are usually smaller than that of bulls.

The brain compartment is several times larger than that of any other known entelodont, and enables this animal to have problem-solving skills, as well as an astonishing memory. The not-deer is an omnivore, and employs plenty of different strategies and tactics for hunting and foraging alike. For example, the diabolocervus can instantly switch one tactic for another when hunting a feral hog, its newly-emerged favourite prey. When a family unit of not-deers comes to forage for pine cones, the father bull, being of greater height, stands up to use his front legs and horns to drop the cones for the cow and calves. The not-deer’s ability to stand and walk on its extremely powerful hind legs is often used for reaching high-hanging food as well as for intimidation and defence.

The aforementioned intelligence could evolve under the pressure of advanced predators such as big saber-toothed and normal-toothed cats and short-nosed bears that were capable of robbing these entelodonts of their food supply, as well as hunt the entelodonts themselves. The reproduction rate of a not-deer is relatively low: 1-2 calves can be born after 1 year of pregnancy, with a maturity threshold of 4-5 years for cows and 5-7 years for bulls. Because of this, the not-deers have to use their intelligence for prolonged and meticulous biparental care for their offspring. Depending on exact environmental circumstances, the family unit may consist of 1 bull, 1-2 cows, 1-3 calves and 1-3 subadults. The overall number of specimens per family rarely exceeds 4-6 individuals. The sub-adult not-deers participate in protecting and helping younger calves, as well as aid their parents at hunting. Not-deer leaves its family when it reaches 450-600 kilograms of weight. In their period between leaving a family and creating their own, not-deers of both sexes form small male-only and female-only groups of 2-3 individuals. When it comes to contesting for females, not-deer bulls are relatively unaggressive towards each other, and prefer displaying feats of strength and intimidation rather than fighting each other directly. Even if the rare instance of fighting occurs, it doesn’t go past minor wounds. The not-deers generally prefer to hold a non-violent attitude towards each other, and are capable of solving their disputes through communication, for which they utilise diverse vocalisations and tail movements. However, they’re highly elusive and foul-tempered when it comes to interacting with other species. 

As for its affection for the pork - feral hogs are abundant, and most of them are nearly defenseless even against a mature cow, let alone a mature bull. If a hog tries to attack a not-deer’s legs with its tusks, it gets a snout-breaking hoof strike - that is if it didn’t get the skull-crushing bite or bled from other wounds beforehand. The defending hog has very few chances of ever damaging the not-deer’s high-slung body, while not-deer can wreck this prey with both kicks and bites. While the hog can utilise its maneuverability in the forest, a family unit of not-deers is oftenly capable of driving the hog to an open terrain and catching it there.

[turok444]

Tide down to the bed you watch your beautiful dominatrix gf walk over to you, her large natural breasts bounce and over flow out the top of her black corset. She has feminized you over the few years you've been together she lazerd of your body hair, and put bovine growth hormones innyour food during your stuffing sessions wich basically gave you breasts.

She dressed you in a black lace tube top with a dress like mesh that drapes down beneath it, a black g string and fish net stockings that are a size to small ,making your thigh flesh ooze through the holes.

You peer over your large moobs and round belly, see her at the foot of the bed holding an extention cord in both hands .

"I'm going to make you my personal sissy balloon boy"

You love when she insults you ,it turns you on ,you also lo key love how much your body has changed, you hate that your moobs fill out your top but you kinda like it too. She plugs the extention cord into each other and the pump on the floor rawrs to life. You feel the hose inside you start to vibrate, then a pressure in your core.

Then almost instantly you feel your belly shift under your lingerie, it quickly grows bigger and rounder, like a balloon being inflated. The pressure feels amazing, you start to feel your groin swell in pleasure. She walks over to your side and starts rubbing your swelling belly

"Mmmhhh good boi ,I know you like it, your gonna get so big for me"

Your belly is beginning to block your vision, she walked back to the pump and turned it to max. You let out a gutteral moan as you feel the rest of your body surge put ward as the air pumps into you. The fishnets your wearing are increasingly getting tighter as your legs and thighs puff up,you start to hear the rip as you swell. Laying on your back is beginning to be difficult because your ass is swelling as well ,pushing your mid section up.

Simultaneously your breasts begin to inflate like balloons as well ,quickly out growing your tube top. You also feel your ares start to grow ,there getting harder to move . Everything is growing so fast your fishnets finally begin to rip making parts of your ballooning legs bulge out . Your breasts finally burst from your top with a bloomph, now completely blocking your vision. Your body feels like pins and needles all over ,then you feel her hand begin to rub and squish your huge inflated belly.

" you've definitely got more room in there, how would you like it if I played with you wile you continue to grow " the only word you manage to say is please. She hopped on the bed between your constantly ballooning legs. Taring of the remaining fragments of the fish nets, she lay her eyes oppon inflated cock. Some how the g string hadn't burst off yet. Your swolen dicknwas stretching it to its limit, the like clock work it burst off with a thwip. Your cock burst free and sprung straight up and was constantly swelling with the rest of your body. She grabbed it with both hands and forced it into her mouth ,like magic she fit your entire ballooning shaft down her throat,she could feel it swell as she sucked you off. The feeling of your baloon dick being played with and the feeling of your body inflating was very intense. You also ate starting to feel yourself round out a bit, your arms and legs now longer touch the bed, the jut outward like inflated tubes with hands and feet at the ends all you can do is flap them. You can feel the climax building, more and more as she sucks you off, more and more as your entire body fills with air, then with out warning you feel your balls surge and swell out ward then release a huge load of cum followed buy a burst of air straight down her throat. She squeals as her breast and belly burst from her corset wile her ass ballooned out behind her, she quickly sat up and inspected her body, "hey now I thought you were the balloon, now I'm going to have to punish you . She quickly pulled put the hose from your ass, the managed to flip your now massively round body. Now laying on your huge belly ,with your round weather baloon ass cheeks out in the air she walks over to your head wich has sunken in to your body slightly. Your border on loosing Consciousness but you hear her say " this hose I'd connected to the shower faucet, I need you to say stationary for your punishment and this should help" she slid the hose down your throat and turned on the faucet, you feel the water enter your already air inflated body, it begins to weigh you down. Now she stood behind you with a huge strap on around her slightly inflated waist,she parts your inflated but and slides the dildo deep into your ass, the shock of pleasure makes you cum again this time all over the bed,she began to thrust hard fucking your inflated ass,it felt almost unbearablely amazing, cuming over and over again. The water in side you is still filling you your belly is now soft and squishy and it spreads across the bed from beneath you, but all the air that is being displaced in going into your ass making it even bigger. You want her to stop but she won't. Now with half of you filled with water she finally stopped fucking you , she turns off the faucet and removes the hose from your mouth. You lay bobing up and down on the bed with cum and air bubbling out of your huge cock. Giving the side of your belly a smack she says devilishly " I think I'm going to keep you like this for a wile"...

[dogtoling]

Biology of Inkfish - Locomotion

Cephalings are bipedal creatures, typically walking upright on two of their limbs. When it comes to the movement of a cephaling, a lot of muscle work is required as cephalings lack a proper support structure*. Inkfish in particular get support from the ink veins pumping ink through their limbs and body, which helps with support and precisive movement. Many inkless cephalings move much slower in comparison and have less stamina due to lacking this system, which may be offset by a smaller body size, more muscle, or large fins to utilize lift to counter gravity.

The internal support system of an inkfish is impeded if the inkfish suffers injuries to its ink veins or is otherwise low on ink; emptied ink veins offer much less support and cause the movements to be wobbly and less stable. When the level of ink is low enough, for example as a result of splatting, inklings become unable to stand upright and oftentimes to move on land at all.

(*Having an animal this large moving without any kind of proper support structure is technically not physically possible, but neither are 2-meter bipedal crabs, so you have to take some creative liberties here….)

The tips of the limbs of cephalings have modified suckers called graspers; these are used to assess the environment as the cephaling moves through it, as well as help with movement precision and balance. As they lack internal support, their movements are often wobbly and they are poor runners, specializing in slower, more precise movements and climbing.

[An image depicting the common forms of inkfish locomotion, with A. bipedal walking, B. crawling using the limbs in swim form, C. flying or "super jumping", and D. sliding or "swimming" on top of an ink trail. These forms of movement are used interchangeably depending on what the situation at hand calls for, with swimming being the most energy efficient by far, but often impractical due to necessary preparations.]

The swim form is a very big asset to inkfish locomotion, being their primary way to both hunt and escape. When compressed into their swim form, inkfish, especially squid, are incredibly aerodynamic and can move in a straight line very fast. Inkfish will lay on top of an ink trail and rush forward by using the suckers on their limbs to push or pull themselves and build up speed. Alternatively, they may release a jet of ink or air behind them, which propels them over their ink at very high velocity. Even without using jet propulsion, the ink on an inkfish's skin lets them slide on top of ink on the ground, leading to very fast movement where other creatures only find themselves hindered by the ink. Sticking and sliding with their own ink also lets inkfish climb vertical surfaces quickly and efficiently*, something many predators cannot compete with. 

(*Inkfish likely climb vertical surfaces by using their suckers to stick to the wall while pulling their body upwards with basically no friction. The method for their wall climbing is surprisingly hard to work out in a way that both functions with the properties of the ink, and is also something that REQUIRES the ink to be there.)

Using their own ink, inkfish are also able to launch themselves directly into the air using a combined effort of a burst of ink and their jumping power; this is what is called a Super Jump. Squidlings are the best inkfish at super jumping, possessing powerful fins and torpedo-shaped mantles to help them orient their flight and landing curves. Although Super Jumping is a powerful asset when it comes to escaping predators, inkfish don’t have a good line of sight when it comes to seeing their jump path and landing point, which limits its usefulness. Super Jumping also uses up a lot of an inkfish's precious ink reserves, and is thus less useful in situations where ink production isn't already boosted or replacement ink isn't readily available.

Even without the jet of ink to propel a jump, inklings have very powerful limb muscles and are able to spring themselves straight up into the air, clearing about their body height's worth up in a fully powered bounce. As they have no bones and are well-engineered for high velocity, inkfish are very impact-resilient and don’t sustain damage to their bodies from falling long distances*. In addition, they are highly adept at orienting themselves to land on their feet.

(*Inkfish tend to clear high falls, like the ones at Moray Towers and Flounder Heights with absolutely no hesitation, not to mention the sheer velocity and height they gain from Super Jumps. This would imply that they don't really have to think about impact damage, which would make sense since they have no bones to break, assuming their bodies otherwise evolved to be very impact-resilient.)

[libraryofmoths]

Moth of the Week

African Wild Silk Moth

Gonometa postica

The African wild silk moth is a part of the family Lasiocampidae. It was first described in 1855 by Francis Walker. It is also known as the Brandwurm in its larval stage in Afrikaans, Kweena in its pupal stage in Tshwana, and Molopo moth/mot in English and Afrikaans.

Description The female of this moth is much longer and larger than the male due to having to carry eggs. The male is about half the size of the female and much thinner.

The female has a light brown abdomen with a dark brown thorax and head. The female’s forewings are striped light brown, dark brown, and gray. The hindwings are a yellow-brown with a dark brown edge.

The male has a dark body and wings with a transparent portion of the hindwing.

Female Forewing Range: 35–42 mm (

Male Forewing Range: 21–25 mm (

Diet and Habitat Larva of this species eat Acacia erioloba, A. tortilis, A. melifera, Burkea africana, Brachystegia spp., and Prosopis glandulosa. The larva will feed from the same tree it’s entire life unless there are two many other caterpillars. When there is a large number of caterpillars, they may defoliate the whole tree and the larva must move in order to not starve.

This moth mainly inhabits savannas with many Acacia trees, especially in drier areas. These moths contribute to the Acacia environment by providing food to predators and nutrients to plants through feces. Cocoons are usually found on Acacia tees.

Mating Males detect females’ mating pheromones with their antennae. Males fly to the females because the females are weighed down by the eggs. The female contains about 200 eggs which are laid on the food plant after fertilization. Eggs hatch in about two weeks. Eggs are laid in clumps and the newly hatched caterpillars grow as a group and become more solitary with time.

Predators This moth is preyed on by parasitic wasps and flies. These insects lay their eggs on the caterpillar and feed off of its resources until the moth larva cocoons. The parasites live off the cocoon and grow to adulthood while killing the pupa. Specifically, these larva are subject to parasitism by Diptera and Hymenoptera, the most common parasitoids being Palexorista species from the Tachinidae and Goryphus species from the Ichneumonidae.[6]

To combat external predators and weather, the caterpillars build a tough cocoon. Caterpillars and their cocoons are also covered in stinging hairs to deter predators from touching them. Female cocoons are larger than male cocoons.

Fun Fact In Madagascar, wild silk has been harvested for centuries, and this knowledge has been introduced to southern Africa. The cocoons are harvested commercially in Namibia, Botswana, Kenya and South Africa, and the species also occurs in Zimbabwe and Mozambique. They are difficult to harvest due to the cocoons being covered in calcium oxalate. Oxford University discovered and patented a method known as demineralizing using a warm solution of EDTA (ethylenediaminetetraacetic acid) that soften the cocoons by dissolving the sericin. This lets the silk unravel without weakening it.

- Wild African silk moth cocoons are also used as ankle rattles in southern Africa by San and Bantu tribes. They are filled with materials such as fine gravel, seeds, glass beads, broken sea shells, or pieces of ostrich eggshell.

- Furthermore, the cocoons have long been known to cause the death of cattle, antelope and other ruminants in the Kalahari. During drought periods, the cocoons are eaten, probably because they resemble acacia pods. The silk is indigestible and blocks the rumen of multiple-stomach animals, causing starvation.

- Finally, the protein found in this species’s slik contains many basic amino acids making it a potentially useful biomaterial in cell and tissue culture.

(Source: Wikipedia, SANBI)

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Yesterday the Associated Press ran a story with this sentence in it: "Last week, regional managers for the General Services Administration, or GSA, received a message from the agency’s Washington headquarters to begin terminating leases on all of the roughly 7,500 federal offices nationwide, according to an email shared with The Associated Press by a GSA employee." That sentence came a little after after the opening sentence which declared that Musk and Trump were moving "to cut down on office space." So far as I can tell this means largely eliminating the federal government--for example the federal government has in my region (California, Arizona, Nevada, Hawaii, some Pacific US territories) 170 government-owned buildings and leased space in 827 buildings. Meanwhile the difference between reducing and eliminating all the leased space seems more or less like the difference between a haircut and the guillotine.

And the story, which seemed clear to me if not the AP, clarifies that Musk's apparent goal isn't to reduce the size of the federal government; it's to eliminate it. Especially if you relate it to all the other stories out there about what Musk is doing, though there's often a notion in mainstream journalism that connecting things to other things is editorializing, that the audience should be delivered facts stripped of context in the name of objectivity. Other evidence for this is in Musk's recent declaration “Regulations, basically, should be default gone. Not default there, default gone. And if it turns out that we missed the mark on a regulation, we can always add it back in.”

News also came in that the executive branch offered buyouts to everyone at the CIA, is trying to fire most of the FBI, and shut down NOAA, whose website was down last night but up this morning (NOAA, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, is also a branch of US intelligence, about nature). Just to reiterate what some of us have been saying since Monday the 27th, this is a coup and it's illegal: the administrative branch in the form of Musk is attempting to dismantle huge parts of the federal government and to exercise powers not granted to it in the Constitution in ways that also sweep aside the legislative and judicial branches of government. The order to terminate all those federal building leases was being given by an employee of Musk's formerly at Twitter/X; it seems likely that, legally, she doesn't have that power.

There are many causes for the current political crisis in the USA, and I would never downplay the racism and misogyny that led to support for a white nationalist/ fascist administration. But another factor that deserves more attention is the misinformation and disinformation that come at us from (almost) all directions, so that a lot of Americans are misinformed (and others are just uninformed, but there's room to be a combination of those two factors, and studies after the November election showed that the more misinformed voters were about immigration, crime and the economy, the more likely they were to vote for Trump). The impact of right-wing media, especially Fox, has been much discussed, but there are two other colossal problems--and one of them, the Internet, has been likewise addressed and reviled a fair amount. But that mainstream media itself so sedates and misleads its readers is, in my eyes, a huge factor in how we got here and a huge hindrance in how we get out. ...

The rest is at the link:

[https://meditations-in-an-emergency.ghost.io/maybe-you.../]

Rebecca Solnit

[everybodylovedcontractors]

Pairing: Wonder Woman 1984's Maxwell Lord (Post Film) x F! Plus Size OC

Words Count: 2,875

Summary: Krystal Greene finds out working for the playboy Maxwell Lord may just change her life. But will it really be any better?

Warnings: Some fluff and angst! Some alcohol use.

Rating: Everyone

Chapter 1: In Your Eyes

The city roared with its typical intensity, something she wasn't quite used to yet.   There was the hustle and bustle of people going to work, and the yellow taxicab horns beeping.  She sat on the bus and began her journey to work herself.   In this cutthroat world, you were either the cat or the mouse, and she was about to walk into the lion’s den.  Her blue grey eyes focused on the magazine someone was reading in front of her.  On the front cover was a man with a trademark grin on his face.   He boasted about the tagline of a better life.  Her lips curled into a smile as she chuckled softly. 

Maxwell Lord: Life Is Good, But It Can Be Better.   Inside the Life of This Playboy CEO. 

She shook her head and looked at the young man reading the pages in front of her.  She wondered if he longed to live like the man on the cover.  With a penthouse apartment in the city, parties every night, a new supermodel on his arm each time... the American dream.  Of course, he did.   Just then, the bus stopped at the corner, and her thoughts were interrupted as she woke up and remembered it was her first day at work. 

She walked down the sidewalk and looked up at the big concrete building, intimidated.  It was in an art deco style that she always loved with its streamlines and columns.   As she walked inside, her heels clacked on the tile floor of Lord Industries.  She had just moved to the city, and this was her first day on the job.  Honestly, she was overwhelmed.   Her heart was beating so fast that she thought it might explode.   Heading into the elevator, she took a deep breath and pressed up.  It was now or never.

The office was surprisingly basic.  She was surrounded by fluorescent lights and paper supplies. It had rows of cubicles where people were hard at work, the phones ringing constantly.  Krystal managed to find her way to the main office, where she reported to her new boss.

She knocked coyly on the door, peeking her head inside. 

"Come in." the man said with authority through his voice. 

"Hello, Mr. Lord.  My name is Krystal Greene and I'm your new secretary."  She said, walking in feigning confidence.   The office featured an extensive library, unusual.  He also had numerous gemstones and a vast collection of art.  One piece in particular caught her eye.   A Warhol.  No, it couldn't be... Her eyes took in all the impressive mahogany woodwork, including a large desk her new boss sat behind.  

He rose up and held out his hand, taking hers in a firm handshake.  He looked deeply into her eyes with a wide million-dollar smile.   "Ah, delighted to make your acquaintance. I'm Maxwell Lord." 

Wow.  He was even more attractive in person, she thought.  He was mid-forties, maybe, with a strong nose and sandy blonde hair that was combed back and a chiseled jaw.  He wore a double-breasted blue pinstripe suit with a red paisley tie on his broad frame.  

"Thank you, Mr. Lord." Krystal Greene was average height with shoulder-length auburn hair she wore pulled back.   Her outfit was professional but plain.   A black pencil skirt fits over her curvy frame, complete with stockings and heels.   A crisp white button-down shirt adorned the rest of her figure.  She sucked in her stomach and took a deep breath, suddenly feeling self-conscious with her handsome new boss around.

"Ah, Ms. Greene.  My goal is to make your life even better.  Thank you for trusting me in your career.  I can already tell you that you'll be a valuable asset to my team." He turns to walk back into his office, expecting her to follow.

She sits down across from him and his desk, her eyes looking up at him and nods her head enthusiastically, "Thank you, Mr. Lord.  So, what do you expect from your secretary?"

"I must be honest, Ms. Greene.  I expect perfection.   You'll be managing my complex schedule, screening calls and visitors, and assisting with various daily tasks.  Organizing files, copying, fetching coffee... He says, trailing off.  

Typical or so, she thought... "Great! Let's get started."  She replied.

"Ah, ever so eager.  I like you already.   Let me show you your desk."  He says, motioning to your desk in front of his office.   There's a stack of files on top of it.  "This will be your first assignment.  Please organize all of these files by the end of the day."

He smiles and then lets her get to work.   She spends all day going through the files, answering phones, and fetching coffee.   At the end of the day, she makes it through the pile of files and hands them in to Maxwell.  He's on the phone but thanks her softly.  She returns to her desk to pack up her things.  She is startled when she hears a voice, his.  His large hand touches her shoulder firmly.  

"Good job today, Ms. Greene.  I'm impressed.  Most secretaries would take at least another day organizing those files.  I'll see you tomorrow morning, I hope?"  He says, flashing that trademark grin.   She thanks him, smiles, and nods.  She walks out that day with a little more confidence and hopes that this is the beginning of a very good working relationship.

The next morning, she arrives bright and early.   The coffee brewing was the only sound in the office.  A fresh cup for a fresh start.  Krystal was good at her job, but her last place of employment made her feel anything but desired.   Used to being taken advantage of for her hard work and kindness, she hoped this time would be different. 

She walked over to her desk and was surprised to see Maxwell already in his office.   She knocks on the door and offers him a cup.

"I didn't expect you to be here, Mr. Lord.  I mean, I've heard you were a workaholic, but..." She praises.

Maxwell Lord was indeed a workaholic.  He started Black Gold, now, Lord Industries, in the basement of an office complex.  He worked from the ground up to where he was now.   There were many bumps in the road, including the usual, selling his soul and the actions that brought him face to face with an Amazon princess.  All in a says work, of course.  But throughout it all, he became a better man, father, and businessman.  He also considered himself a man of fine taste with an eye for talent.  He had ambitions for his company and was hoping to find someone who would contribute to those through hard work and dedication.  Maybe his new secretary would be willing to help.  He didn't consider himself easy to work for.   He was an idealist, and some would even go as far as calling him domineering.  

He looked up at her and took the cup of coffee.  "Call me Maxwell, please.  After all, we'll be working closely together."  He gently wraps his lips around the cup and drinks the brown nectar.   His eyebrows rise slightly.   "Not bad, Ms. Greene."

The coffee was better than the last secretary hire. She lasted two weeks.   There was something different, though, about this one, he thought.  She made a good cup of coffee, is prompt, and diligent.

But he could read her insecurities from a mile away.  She was the type who may not know her worth.   Perhaps he could change that.  While he was difficult to work for, he also boasted a caring side.   His son was his pride and joy.   So, he decided he wouldn't let this one fall apart.  He considered himself not only to be her boss but also a mentor.  Plus, he really didn't want to hire another secretary.

Being only a man and a single one at that, he looked down her body, slowly lingering for a moment.  Some would call her plus sized.  Her body was pleasing to his eyes.  She had an hourglass figure, his eyes lingering on her ample behind.  He appreciated women in all their different shapes and forms.  What really turned him on was a different story...  He shook his head, trying not to get too distracted.

"How is everything going, Ms. Greene? I know the job can be quite intense and demanding." He admits. 

"I may be new at this, sir.  But this is a fortune five hundred business.   I expect no less.  I know I don't have that kind of experience, but I am willing to do whatever it takes." She responds. 

"Well, I'm here if you need anything and experience, isn't everything.   I want you to succeed.  Of course, I offer you my guidance and support as we work alongside each other."  He says.  He would love to have someone by his side as he takes over the investment world.  And a good secretary was indeed hard to find. 

"I trust you, Mr. Lord, and I appreciate your belief in my potential."  She says, her smile warming, her eyes sparkling.  All she ever wanted was someone to believe in her, mold her into her greatest self.   Perhaps all she needed was a little tough love.

Over the next few weeks, the two work together closely.   Late nights, long hours.   There were days Krystal would go home overwhelmed and cry herself to sleep.  She dreaded coming in the next day but somehow, with that million-dollar smile, a comforting hand on her back, and whispered words of reassurance, she came back day after day. 

Maxwell and Krystal's bond even formed into a short of friendship, and when Krystal learns that the company is in a bit of financial trouble, she puts in overtime.   She and Maxwell are working one night over some Chinese takeout.  

Krystal looks around the office again. There's that lithograph of Marilyn Monroe on the wall in various colors.   "Is that an actual Warhol?" She finally enquires.

He nods.  "Yes, it is."

"Oh, I love art and its history, Maxwell.  I took classes on it in college."  She says, taking a bite of her beef and broccoli. 

"Have you been to the art museum in the city yet?  It is one of the finest in the country." He asks. 

"Not yet, although I'm dying to!" She admits.

"You know I have a membership there I'm actually a VIP.  I could get us into the museum after hours, a sort of private tour if you will..." He informs. 

Suddenly, an idea pops into her head.  "I know!  Let's have a gala there and invite all your investors.   I know the people would be happy to see the playboy, Maxwell Lord, in a tuxedo."

He laughs and nods, his dark chocolate eyes lighting up.   "Brilliant idea, Ms. Greene.  I'll pitch it to my investors tomorrow.  This could really be the chance to highlight the company and perhaps make new connections.  I think this calls for a toast of my finest scotch."  He says, chuckling softly and getting up to grab his decanter and two glasses.   He pours one for him and one for her.  

She grabs it and inhales its smoky scent. It reminds her of him.   Strong and smooth.  It hits her throat, and she feels the liquid burn down her esophagus.  The warming effect is almost immediate.  Alcohol always did calm her nerves.

Maxwell takes a sip and relaxes, as well.   There's a shared silence between them.  He admires a strand of hair that has fallen out of her chignon.  He gets up from his desk and stands in front of it, face to face with his secretary.   Holding his glass, he lifts it up and proposes his toast.   "To the Gala, teamwork and art.  Let's make it an unforgettable evening!"

Krystal holds up her glass, clinking her glass with his.   "Cheers!" She says, taking another sip.  She can feel her face flushed from the alcohol.  Her eyes meet Maxwell's, and she quickly diverts them to the glass. 

"Bashful, again?  Ms. Greene...  We're close now, right?  There's nothing to hide."  He says, downing the rest of his scotch.  He sets his glass down.  He leans forward, his hand touching hers.  

"Thank you, Maxwell.  That means a lot to me.   I'm very happy here, and I'm grateful for all you've done for me and for our new friendship."  She says. She retreats her hand and drinks the rest of her whiskey.  

"Krystal, is that all we are?  You know most people would have cracked under pressure but not you.   You're resilient, my diamond in the rough.   You've taken everything I've given you and come back stronger.  You're absolutely brilliant, you know?"  He says emboldened by his alcohol.   He takes his hand and brushes that stand of hair behind her ear.  

She closes her eyes and feels his strong hand touch the delicate skin of her cheek.  A deep sigh escapes her lips.   It has to be the scotch talking because his touch feels like an ember beneath her skin. 

A smirk crosses Maxwell's lips.   Is this the effect he has on her?  He looks down at her, his gaze intense.  He feels the air between them thicken between them like the smoke from the scotch.   "Krystal, do you trust me?"

"Yes... yes, Maxwell."  She stammers.

"I see such potential in you.  You find solutions where others see problems.   There's so much power inside you waiting to be released.   You could soar to such great heights.  I want to help you do that, but you have to trust me completely."

"Yes, Maxwell." She replies.

Ah, that's better, he thought.  There was such an innocence to her.  And now, with her trust, he longed to show her what life could be.  How impressive she really was, how bright she could shine.

"Trust can require others to take some control.   You need to let yourself be vulnerable.   I know you've been hurt before, but if your heart and your mind are wide open to experiences, it could be... beneficial.

He pauses again, entranced by her beautiful eyes.  Your eyes are like emeralds, you know.  They change colors, don't they?  They're exquisite."

"You noticed?"  She beams, unsure what to say. 

"Of course.   You know you mean so much to me, my darling." He admits.

"Thank you... but I... I... should get going."  She responds.

"I suppose you're right, Ms. Greene.  I've kept you here long enough."  He looks up at the time, snapping out of his trance of desire.   "Ah, yes, it's getting late.   Ah, but before you go, I have something for you."  He takes out a small velvet box from his desk drawer and hands it to her.  Inside are emerald and diamond earrings and a note that says,

For my gem, Krystal. 

With Adoration, M.L.

She gasps and bites her lips.  "I can't accept this..."

"Nonsense.  Please consider it a token of my appreciation."

"Thank you."  She says, blushing.   She leans in and gives him a soft kiss on his cheek.

He cups her cheek with his hands and whispers, "May I?"

She's not sure if it's the alcohol or something else, but against her better judgment, she leans in slowly placing a chaste kiss on his lips.  He leans in, his hands pulling her closer, one holding her head back as he deepens the kiss.  A soft moan escapes her lips as he does so.  She pulls back abruptly. 

"I really must go, Mr. Lord." She persists. 

"Maxwell, remember?" He corrects.

"Maxwell..."  She replies and walks out of the office.

"Goodnight, my Krystal.  My brilliant, beautiful secretary.  My diamond."  He whispers. "One day, you will be mine."

Krystal hails a cab to her apartment.  When she's halfway home, she remembers that she forgot her purse leaving in such a hurry after her encounter with her boss.  She makes the taxi turn around and runs back into the building. 

As she returns to the office, all she can think about is that kiss.  The kind that makes the hair on your arms stand up.  She decides that her happiness is just as important as her career and wonders if Maxwell is still in his office.  There's a light on, and the door is propped open.  She decides it's now or never.  As she peaks her head inside, she sees Maxwell.  But he's not alone.

She notices a woman's long, shapely legs in black platform high heels.  Her eyes move further up, and she spots the most beautiful woman she's ever seen.  She had luscious long blonde hair and a svelte body in a gorgeous light blue Chanel suit. 

But what happens next makes her heart sink to the pit of her stomach.  She and Maxwell are in an embrace.   They look like the perfect couple.   The blonde touches his arm and laughs, obviously flirting with him.

"You son of a bitch!" Krystal cries as she runs with her purse now in hand to the elevator.   All she wants to do is get as far away as possible.  She can hear footsteps on the tile floor as she flees the scene, frantically pressing the close door sign on the elevator to avoid the womanizer she thought she was falling for. 

Thank you to @baronessvonglitter for her guidance. You're the best! 💜

[mariacallous]

Zechariah Mehler wanted to see the swastika for himself.

It was September, and Milwaukee was abuzz over a mural that had gone up on the side of a commercial building in the city’s sixth district. Painted on slabs of vinyl affixed to the brick, the mural — a large rectangle about the size of the building’s ground floor — featured a background that appeared to depict mass graves, weeping mothers, drones and other scenes of carnage in Gaza.

At the center: a Jewish star with a swastika inside it, along with the words, “The irony of becoming what you once hated.”

The city council had passed a resolution condemning the mural, and local Jewish leaders had called to remove it. But the building’s owner, a Palestinian real estate businessman named Ihsan Atta, said he was making a principled stand against Israel’s war in Gaza. When a local mother splashed black paint on the mural and confronted him on camera, yelling, “What are you promoting for our kids to see?” Atta yelled back and had it repainted by the next day.

Any doubts that Mehler had about whether the mural was antisemitic were erased when he visited the site and, he said, saw anti-Zionist protesters harassing Orthodox Jewish teenagers.

“You had the Free Palestine group just screaming at these kids, you know, ‘baby murderers and Zionist pigs,’” he told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. “It was aggressive, it was intimidating.”

So Mehler — a 42-year-old dreadlocked former tech worker known as “Zee” who used to work as a kosher caterer and run a blog about kosher food — said he decided to take matters into his own hands.

On the night of Sept. 14, he recruited his 74-year-old father Peter, a retired rabbi who is in poor health, to accompany him to the site of the mural. They brought an ax, a sledgehammer and a pry bar and went to work. Moving quickly, the two struck the mural and pulled the vinyl plates off the wall, in full view of Atta’s security cameras. Zechariah turned to one and flipped it off: “Double middle fingers,” the police report would later read.

The pair were derailed — and the incident nearly veered into violence — when a bystander who supported the mural tried to intervene. So Zechariah Mehler returned the following day to finish the job, prying the remaining panels from the wall.

Two weeks later, shortly before Rosh Hashanah, police came to his home. He and his father were arrested and charged with criminal damage to property, which in Wisconsin carries up to nine months of jail time.

Mehler says he knows that what he and his father did was illegal — in fact, he expected to get caught. But he’s convinced they did the morally correct thing, the only option that didn’t require them to ignore or shrink from a threat.

“It is certainly destruction of private property,” he said in an interview. “The question becomes whether or not [the mural] posed a tangible threat to the Jewish community. That’s our argument.”

Peter Mehler says that he, too, has no regrets. He lives with Guillain-Barre syndrome, a rare neurological disorder in which the body’s immune system attacks its own nerves.

“The last 10 years, I’ve been a shut-in, basically,” he said. “But this was an opportunity for me to have a last chance to be active about this message. We cannot allow Jews to be converted into Nazis.”

Now, the Mehlers are hoping to make their case in court. A preliminary hearing is set for Tuesday, though it’s unclear how the case will progress. At a previous court appearance, Zechariah Mehler called Atta profane names and, he said, tried to take a selfie with the mural’s owner to post on social media. Since then, a new district attorney has been sworn in to prosecute cases in Milwaukee, and he hasn’t yet commented publicly on this one.

The case has become a major flashpoint in Milwaukee, where Golda Meir grew up and first became active in the Labor Zionist movement, and where some vocal pro-Palestinian activists have brought a level of hostility to local affairs never before seen by the city’s Jewish community.

Over the summer, the chancellor of the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, whose main campus library is named after Meir, enraged some local Jewish groups by making a deal with his campus’ pro-Palestinian encampment; he wound up apologizing. A progressive Jewish member of Milwaukee’s city council, who’d co-signed a joint resolution condemning the mural, recently died by suicide, an act some of his friends say was motivated by anti-Zionist bullying.

The Mehlers’ case is also capturing attention beyond the city, where the question of how to respond to anti-Israel displays has flummoxed and sometimes divided Jews.

The leader of a group called Betar US, which advocates for Jews to be more forceful, even physical, in confronting the threats they see, invited the father and son to represent the organization in Milwaukee. The group also helped raise nearly $20,000 toward their legal fees.

Betar US is a reboot of a century-old paramilitary group originally founded by early 20th-century Revisionist Zionist leader Ze’ev Jabotinsky. Betar members have been involved in several altercations with pro-Palestinian demonstrators over the last year, and it has even gone after other Jews at times. The group is also collecting information about international students who participate in U.S. pro-Palestinian protests in an effort to get the students deported.

“My politics and Betar’s politics are very different. I’m not a right-wing guy,” Zechariah Mehler said. But he said the group’s president, the Jewish public relations executive Ronn Torossian, assured him, “This is more about, do you believe that Israel has a right to exist, that Jews have a right to live in peace?” Of utmost importance, he said, was that Jews should stop “just being meek and allowing ourselves to be threatened and walked over. So I said, sure.”

Torossian has called the Mehlers “heroes.” He said in an interview that their actions perfectly fit the nonprofit’s vision of seeing Jews publicly fighting back against perceived threats to themselves or Israel.

“The Mehler family is a big reason why we restarted Betar,” said Torossian, who said he grew up in earlier iterations of the movement. “It’s a shame that this man has to stand up and act alone. It’s a shame that this man is facing a criminal trial and the entire Jewish community is silent. That won’t continue. I can assure you, we’re going to get him more support.”

It does not appear that any of the support will come from local Jewish institutions and organizations, whom Zechariah Mehler derided as “deer in headlights” when it comes to the problems presented by anti-Israel activism.

A representative for the Milwaukee Jewish Federation and Jewish Community Relations Council reiterated the federation’s denunciation of the mural as “antisemitic for many reasons,” including that it promotes Holocaust denial and dehumanizes survivors and victims of the Holocaust. But the groups declined to comment further on the Mehlers’ case or on the mural’s actual removal.

The groups have in the past discouraged Jewish vigilantism: In May, amid intense activity at the UWM encampment, the JCRC advised local Jews not to counter-protest, saying that it could escalate a risky situation.

When the Mehlers sought to purchase an advertisement in the local Jewish newspaper, which is owned by the federation, they were rebuffed. “You come with an ongoing backstory that could present content and/or reputation challenges for a Jewish publication,” a federation executive wrote to Zechariah Mehler, in an email that JTA obtained. The official added that the federation “can’t put ourselves in a position where folks can even get the sense that we endorsed any actions of your past.”

Some in the city are sympathetic to the Mehlers. Matt Stolzenberg, a tattoo artist whose parlor had been located in the same building as the mural, has been outspoken about his distaste for it. Following its installation, Stolzenberg — who says he is not Jewish but has Jewish family — said he and his business partners moved his shop’s location at considerable expense, “specifically to avoid vandalism and other issues that a giant swastika will bring to a business.”

Some of his customers interpreted his move as “an anti-Palestine thing, which I’m not at all,” Stolzenberg said. “But I’m also just not anti-Jew, nor pro-swastika.”

Asked his views on the Mehlers’ case, he added, “I think that if I were Jewish, there would be no other option than to tear down the giant swastika mural.”

Atta installed the mural in place of a previous one erected in memory of Breonna Taylor, a Black woman shot by police in Louisville, Kentucky, in 2020 who became a symbol of nationwide racial justice protests that year.

After the first vandalism of the mural, by a local woman, Milwaukee’s city council issued a statement condemning the image as “hurtful and divisive” and saying that it “is not welcome in our community.”

“Some people look for any excuse to wave a swastika,” the council members wrote in their Sept. 14 statement. “It has long been a symbol of intolerance and hatred, designed to psychologically injure and oppress those who are different.” The council member who represents the district where the mural was located did not return a request for comment.

Atta also did not respond to requests for comment made through an intermediary. But he has consistently defended his mural, including at a press conference he held at the site shortly after the Mehlers tore it down. The conference was called by the Wisconsin Coalition for Justice in Palestine, whose co-chair is Atta’s sister.

“It was an artistic way of expressing the current genocide that is being perpetrated against the Palestinian people by Israel and which is being supported by our government and funded with our tax dollars,” Atta said of the mural at the event. He said the Star of David on the mural was not a Jewish symbol but instead pulled from the flag “of an apartheid regime” as a political symbol.

Adopting language popularized in large part by Meir Kahane, the far-right Jewish extremist, as a response to the Holocaust, he added, “It is a statement to say that ‘never again’ means never again for anyone.”

Several of his supporters wore black T-shirts emblazoned with the mural’s swastika design at the event, which was also attended by local members of the anti-Zionist group Jewish Voice for Peace.

Yet even JVP, which tends to back Palestinian-led protests that many other Jews find offensive and even antisemitic, acknowledged the mural’s provocations.

“We understand why it’s polarizing,” the Milwaukee chapter, which is a member of the pro-Palestinian coalition, wrote in a lengthy Instagram statement posted just prior to the mural’s destruction. “There is a legitimate critique that can be made about it, particularly concerning the language of the mural implying that Jews, whom the Nazis persecuted and exterminated during the Holocaust, have become oppressors not unlike the Nazis in regards to Zionism and Palestine.”

The statement, which the chapter’s co-founder, Rachel Ida Buff, read at the press conference, added, “It should be made abundantly clear that Judaism and Zionism are two different things, but it understandable how someone might read the mural as conflating the two.”

But the statement went on to conclude that Israel’s behavior was “far more reprehensible and antisemitic” than the mural, and that “it is not our or anyone else’s place to police Palestinians as they express their pain through creative means.”

Local JVP chapter co-founder Rachel Ida Buff, a history professor at UWM who is Jewish, told JTA she personally believed the mural “was meant to generate conversation, which it succeeded in doing.”

Buff added, “If seeing the image of a swastika in River West upsets people more than the images of murdered children coming out of Gaza, that is a moral problem.”

What upset Peter Mehler most when he saw the mural, he said, was thinking about his former congregants, many of them Holocaust survivors, at the synagogues he led in Sheboygan, Wisconsin, and Northbrook, Illinois.

“I was really outraged,” he said. “For them, this would have been extremely traumatic. And it was traumatic for me, too, to watch this guy take the Star of David and make it into a swastika.”

He rejected any comparisons between the Gaza war and the Holocaust.

“The war in Israel is nothing like the Holocaust, and I am offended by the idea that the Palestinians have turned this into us as offenders when they, in fact, were the attackers,” he said. “You know, once they attacked, then they have to realize that they opened up Pandora’s box, and anything that Israel did, they were responsible for.”

Both men said their activism had almost taken a dangerous turn when the bystander accosted them while they were ripping down the mural. The man “said to me, ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know what genocide is. Describe genocide to me,’” Peter Mehler recalled.

The exchange triggered him, and he said he considered hitting the man with his hammer. But Zechariah said he “explained to my father that our methodology was not one that was intended to be aggressive.”

The bystander, Michael Gauthier, shared a similar account of the encounter during the Wisconsin Coalition for Justice in Palestine press conference. “I stood here on this curb and there was an angry man screaming in my face, waving a hammer, saying he was going to hit me with it,” he recalled. “Thank God that didn’t happen. Thank God his partner in crime talked him down a little bit.”

Family members tried to discourage Peter from joining his son in the first place, citing his health, both Mehlers said. But he insisted.

“It’s the responsibility of a rabbi to be the symbol of true north for the Jewish community,” Peter Mehler said. “We’ve got a symbol of antisemitism hung on a wall, and not anybody will speak out about it.”

Both father and son say they’re prepared to go to jail over their actions. Peter insisted things wouldn’t come to that and vowed to appeal any penalty. Zechariah, meanwhile, said he would relish the attention such a sentence would bring.

“You know what’ll happen if they put me in jail for this? Oh my God, then every Jewish organization would be on it,” he said. “Alan Dershowitz would be here. They don’t want that.”

[tea-potato-gt]

Kæmpe Stor’s Life Part 2:

Part 1 here

By now Stor has been living with Joseph and Rudy for about 6 months. In that time, they have been teaching Stor how to interact with people smaller than him. They bought several mannequins for Stor to pick up and use all his strength on so he can know the limits of himself and other creatures. And eventually, Stor was allowed to pick up his parents when they ALL felt ready.

Stor is taught to only pick up people when absolutely necessary or if a person wants to be picked up. Stor cannot touch people outside his family without expressed permission and consent.

He’s also scolded for picking up objects that aren’t his, because of how easily he could accidentally break something. At the age of 6, Stor can pick up a motorcycle with one hand. It’s only a matter of time before he could pick up a car or a truck.

Joseph and Rudy never want Stor to think of objects or people as toys, which wasn’t really a problem in the first place, but they wanted to be sure. In order to adopt Stor, the couple made an agreement, that Stor could be taken away by the government at any moment for messing up or hurting someone.

—————————————————————————

House wise, Joseph and Rudy moved to a lot by the sea. There, they built a entire new house and off to the side a large barn that would house their growing giant child. Nobody knows how big Stor would/could get, so the couple decided to be safe and just build him a separate room/building that he can grow into. They also added several skylights on the house roof with hatches on the outside so if Stor gets tall enough he can open them and look inside the house.

The food and clothes issue was solved at the same time. Joseph’s best friend (Elijah) married (Magie) one of the most powerful Witches in the world. (Strega’s parents.) Joseph asked for her help. Magie developed a potion that, when put in food, would multiply its nutients and portions size to Stor’s. His clothes were enchanted by another powerful Witch. When Stor isn’t touching his clothes they are human sized, but as soon as Stor picks them up they grow proportional to his giant stature.

But the family needs to constantly get refill on Stor’s food potions, which leads to the young boy hanging around the Witch house hold a lot. There, Stor met and befriended Strega and her two older siblings (Lin & Jadis). Strega is 4 years old.

Learn more about Strega here

Stor and Strega: ☺️🥺

Stor also spent his days at the Witch house because both his dads had to work during the day. Elijah is a stay at home husband, so he watches Stor and Strega while Lin and Jadis go off to school.

When Stor first started being watched by Elijah, he’d cry when his dads dropped him off. He had SEVERE separation anxiety and worried his parents wouldn’t come back.

Stor at this point has not gone to school, his parents want to make sure he’s comfortable around other smaller people and understands the power/danger he could pose to those around him.

Elijah, Joseph and Rudy all worked to fill in Stor’s education he already was missing before sending him to a real school. Basic reading/writing/etc.

———————————-———————————————

After six months, Stor’s fathers felt he was ready to go to a real school.

At this age, being only 11 and a half feet tall, Stor can go inside the school, though he hits his head on the ceiling and door frames. He needs a large bean table for a desk.

At recess, Stor is forbidden from playing with the other kids for fear he might accidentally hurt them. So he sits to the side with the teachers all recess.

It's here that Stor meets Yilan, his future best friend.

Yilan didn’t want to play with the other kids during recess, so he hid behind Stor. There they begin talking and quickly become friends.

Yilan, much like Stor, was alone. Yilan is half human and half snake, a very dangerous combo leading many people to fear the 7 year old, much like people fear Stor.

More about Yilan here

_______________________________________________

Keep in mind, Stor is still a very energetic 6 year old and being cooped up all day unable to expel that energy is not doing the kid any favors. He became jittery, restless and irritated. Joseph and Rudy had to get creative.

They turned to the ocean in their very back yard. Rudy taught Stor to swim, he learned quickly and grew to love it. Everyday after school Stor would go to the beach with his fathers and swim. If he was frustrated? Swim. Happy or excited? Swim.

Being in the water became calming to him. He loves all kinds of water, the feeling of a stream through his fingers or just floating in the ocean. (Maybe that's why he likes to be around Mizu so much?🫣)

_______________________________________________

Part 3 here & Part 4 here

Master list